NOT-SO-HARD SELL
WHEN JOEL OSTEEN HITS THE ROAD, EVENTS ARE FILLED WITH MERCHANDISE, DONATION REQUESTS
LOS ANGELES — A crew of technicians worked through the night to prepare the arena. They emptied three tractortrailers packed with production equipment, lined the venue with stacks of merchandise and assembled giant screens to magnify Joel Osteen’s smile for the nosebleed seats. It took them 10 hours to build the pulpit.
By noon, more than 6,000 rapturous fans had filed in to The Forum in Inglewood, Calif. They had paid $15 each to experience a traveling spectacle called the Night of Hope, 2½ hours of song and sermon designed to raise the celebrity pastor’s profile still higher and bring more followers into the fold.
Audience members settled in to their seats as a church spokesman touted copies of Osteen’s latest book, “Blessed in the Darkness,” for $15 each.
Tables near the popcorn stands were stacked with other Osteen bestsellers and “Night of Hope” shirts. Program inserts advertised $15 audio devotionals by the preacher’s wife, Victoria, $20 limited-edition crew necks and $39 branded tote bags filled with Osteen books, a CD and a shirt.
Offering envelopes tempted givers with still more stuff: An Osteenbranded journal and his annotated “Hope for Today” Bible for anyone who pledged at least $30 a month to Joel Osteen Ministries.
At his home pulpit in Houston’s Lakewood Church, Osteen keeps solitcitations and marketing at a minimum. Appeals for donations and book promos are subdued. There is no admission fee, and merchandise sales are generally confined to a bookstore on a different floor.
When he hits the road, however, many of the restraints come off. Ads for merchandise and requests for donations are pervasive. The monthly events are saturated with messages promoting Osteen’s Sirius XM channel, his mobile app, his social media platforms.
Religious scholars and church watchdogs have long faulted Osteen for peddling what they consider a simplistic, feel-good version of the Gospel. But it is the barnstorming Osteen who evokes their deepest reservations. They depict the Night of Hope as the epitome of hollow, consumer-focused Christianity aimed above all at drawing in more donors.
“We are seeing religion commodified to an extreme,” said Albert Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky. “The simple gospel of Jesus Christ has been transformed into a massive business that is now exemplified by charging admissions to events.”
To Osteen, the Night of Hope crowds testify to the overwhelming success of his church’s media-savvy evangelism. He describes the events as a way to forge a connection with people outside Houston, the books and merchandise as a means to
maintain that bond.
“Every city we go, the arena is filled up,” Osteen said. “The thing I’m most proud of is the lives I’ve been able to touch.”
The exposure inevitably redounds to his personal benefit as well as the church’s. His publisher often organizes book signings to coincide with Night of Hope shows. Though the events aren’t marketed jointly, one drums up excitement for the other, and Osteen followers often attend both.
Osteen also uses the Night of Hope to draw attention to charitable causes.
Lately, he and his wife have appealed to arena audiences to support World Vision, a nonprofit that finds financial sponsors for children in developing countries. The couple sponsors four children through the organization, and after each show, Osteen shakes the hand of everyone who commits to sponsor a child.
Osteen said he first realized the immense potential of the Night of Hope events when the church held the first one in Atlanta in 2004. The 21,000-seat Philips Arena overflowed with fans.
“That’s when it really hit me,” he said. “When I pulled up to the arena that night, I thought, ‘Wow, this is bigger than I realized.’ ”
Since then, Lakewood has staged more than 180 Night of Hope shows in 83 cities, including some abroad. Osteen has sold out Madison Square Garden seven times.
The shows are loss leaders. Ticket proceeds rarely cover the cost of renting an arena, paying Ticketmaster fees and transporting truckloads of equipment and dozens of crew members.
In the fiscal year ending March 31, 2017, Lakewood spent nearly $6.7 million on Night of Hope, according to the church’s financial statement for the year. Ticket sales brought in less than $1.8 million.
The difference was paid from the church’s budget, nearly 93 percent of which came from individual donations gathered online, by mail or in collection buckets. In other words, Osteen’s followers pay to send him and his supporting cast on the road in pursuit of still more followers.
He and his wife don’t take that backing for granted.
When he returned from a Night of Hope event in Albany, N.Y., in April, he told the Houston congregation how pleased he’d been to fill an arena in a city with relatively few churches per capita. Victoria thanked the audience for the financial support that enabled Lakewood to spread its message there.
At every show, Osteen tells the story of Lakewood’s remarkable growth since his parents founded the church in an abandoned feed store in 1959. He recounts his own modest beginnings working in the wings as a cameraman and producer for his father’s television ministry.
God cleared a path to his destiny, he tells the audience — just as He will for them.
He keeps a tissue in his pocket for when the spotlights catch his tears. In the darkened rows of seats, fans dab at their eyes.
Despite a long decline in American religiosity, the nation’s megachurches have continued to expand under the leadership of charismatic pastors like Osteen — television personalities, bestselling authors and radio hosts who tap their followers for funding.
“Big churches of that kind, they really look like large corporations,” said Carl Trueman, a pastor and professor of church history at the Westminster Theological Seminary in Pennsylvania. “Are they really using that money for the benefit of the people in the church and in the community?”
Unlike other tax-exempt nonprofits, churches are not required to file annual disclosures of revenue, expenditures and executive compensation with the Internal Revenue Service.
Calls for transparency picked up in the 1980s, when a string of famous televangelists fell from grace. Jim Bakker served prison time for funding a lavish lifestyle with millions of dollars in donations. Sexual trysts toppled Jimmy Swaggart’s ministry. Oral Roberts warned viewers that he’d die if a multi-million-dollar fundraiser fell short (it didn’t and he didn’t).
The new millennium brought a fresh spate of scandals, and renewed scrutiny.
In 2007, Sen. Chuck Grassley, R-Iowa, launched a threeyear inquiry into some of the country’s wealthiest televangelists. He investigated Joyce Meyer for a pricey furniture purchase, Creflo Dollar for allegedly spending church funds on two Rolls Royces, and Kenneth Copeland for his use of a $20 million jet. The effort ended without determining whether the preachers had run afoul of IRS standards for maintaining tax-exempt status.
Some churches have sought to earn public trust by joining the Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability, founded in 1979 by Billy Graham and others. Members commit to appoint independent boards and release financial statements, among other requirements.
Lakewood has taken steps to separate its nonprofit operations from Osteen’s personal fortune, and it has never been publicly accused of misappropriating funds.
Its financial operations, however, are mostly shielded from view. The church is ineligible to join the Evangelical Council because its board is controlled by Osteen, his wife Victoria and his sister Lisa. Unlike many council members, Lakewood does not routinely make its financial statements public or post them on its website. (It did provide the Chronicle with a portion of its most recent financial statement upon request.)
Osteen said he’s comfortable releasing some details of the church’s finances but sees no need to go further. He added that Lakewood’s board will remain family-run.
“It’s been family since my dad, and I’ve felt good keeping it like it is,” he said.
Ninet Jacob arrived at Vroman’s bookstore in Pasadena, Calif., at 7:30 a.m. so she would be first in line when Osteen arrived to sign copies of his 10th book, “Blessed in the Darkness.” It was the last Friday in October — the day before the Night of Hope at The Forum — and she had 4½ hours to wait.
In 2004, the year Osteen released his first book, “Your Best Life Now,” Jacob was at the end of her rope — so desperate, she said, that she contemplated suicide. Her husband had opened a Subway restaurant, but the numbers hadn’t worked. They lost the business and had to sell their house.
“It was the lowest point in my life,” she said.
A chance visit by two doorknocking Jehovah’s Witnesses prompted her to connect more deeply with her faith.
Born an Orthodox Christian in a God-fearing Iranian household, Jacob spent most of her life believing He doled out nothing but punishment. That changed when she saw Osteen on TV, preaching about God’s love and generosity.
She began watching his sermons every weekend. Soon, she purchased his books and set her car radio to his Sirius XM channel.
She once heard him tell a story about a farmer whose donkey had fallen into a deep well. To put the donkey out of its misery, the farmer began to fill the hole. The donkey shook off each shovelful of dirt, which settled beneath its feet. Gradually, the dirt filled the well shaft, and the donkey walked free.
Jacob repeated that story to herself as her family suffered one hardship after another. She thought of herself as the donkey, shaking off each shovelful of dirt.
At last, she walked free. Three years ago, she used $5,000 in savings to go into business as a mortgage broker.
Her business, located in a small Glendale, Calif., office lined with Osteen’s books, has tripled in size since then. She donated $5,000 to Lakewood’s Hurricane Harvey relief fund, the same amount she had invested to start her company.
“I owe everything to Joel,” she said.
Just before noon, he appeared at Vroman’s to find Jacob and about 100 others waiting. Many had bought multiple copies of his new book, at $26 each.
Osteen, wearing dark jeans, a gray button-down and a muted plaid blazer, worked his way up the line, pausing to shake each person’s hand before taking his place at the signing table.
When her turn came to approach the table, Jacob implored him to continue preaching. He smiled as he signed her four copies of “Blessed in the Darkness,” as well as the Bible she had brought from home.
Saturday’s Night of Hope matinee at The Forum had the trappings of a modern-day tent revival. Fans raised their arms in worship. They echoed “Amen.” Almost everyone sang.
Osteen told the audience of more than 6,000 that their dreams were not dead, just asleep. Victoria encouraged them to stir up the goodness deep inside them, like chocolate settled at the bottom of a glass of milk.
Backstage, the church’s social media manager sat in the shadow of the curtain, trying to hide the glow of her computer screen as she saved snippets of Osteen’s sermon for Lakewood’s Twitter and Facebook accounts.
The Osteens spotlighted local pastors and closed with an altar call that moved hundreds of people to stand for a bornagain blessing.
They had just a few hours before the evening show. Osteen retreated to his dressing room to recharge, a silent period that could not be interrupted.
He emerged for the second show looking as fresh as before. This time, there were more than 10,000 people. He repeated the same jokes and stories, gesticulating exactly as he had hours earlier.
Osteen urged the audience to strive for an A instead of settling for a C in their jobs, relationships and aspirations. Giving in to an addiction? “That’s a C!” Osteen said, pointing a finger high above his head for emphasis.
Doubting your ability to get in shape or overcome an illness? Also a C.
Staying with that guy, even though he treats you poorly?
“That’s an F!” Osteen exclaimed, drawing laughter from the depths of the arena.
Jacob took it all in from a seat at the end of the eighth row. With a cross around her neck and her hands in her lap, she wore a smile that mirrored his.
God cleared a path to his destiny, he tells the audience — just as He will for them.