Big-time religion

Stacy J. Willis

Thursday, Dec. 16, 1999 | 11:12 a.m.

Question God, eat a cheese omelet.

At the 30-foot information desk inside the front doors of Central Christian Church, visitors can get directions to the "sound reasoning hospitality room" -- a nook reserved for ministering to skeptics -- or to the courtyard cafe, where the sermons are broadcast via closed-circuit television to those who are hungry for more than God.

Central Christian opened the doors to its new $25 million, 56-acre compound last week. More than 5,200 people attended the first weekend's services -- enough to cause someone on the 70-member staff to hire Henderson Police officers to direct traffic onto the site near U.S. 95 and Russell Road.

This is church in the big-box-store era -- one-stop shopping for all of your spiritual needs, served up with big-screen monitors and video montages, a well-stocked bookstore and 140 small groups ranging from the "extreme sports ministry" to a single parents support group.

"We like to think it's not a big church but a small town," said Jon Hanson, the church's community care director.

Central Christian is one of the nation's 100 largest non-Catholic churches and the largest evangelical church in Nevada, according to Church Growth Today, a Missouri-based megachurch research center. The Rev. Gene Appel, who has been at the helm of the nondenominational church since 1985, is featured in Church Growth Today's video series, "America's Megachurches and the Men Who Lead Them."

But the opening of Central's new facility in no way completes the furious construction of large-scale churches in the Las Vegas Valley -- in fact, Appel himself has plans to plant more would-be megachurches in the next decade.

"Las Vegas' population is growing so fast, it is a perfect place for megachurches to develop," said John Vaughn, director of Church Growth Today. "People are looking for a place to belong."

In western Las Vegas, the International Church of Las Vegas (formerly the West Valley Assembly of God) recently completed a $7 million, 3,200-seat sanctuary. Shadow Hills Baptist built a 75,000-square-foot sanctuary this fall as part of an expansion project that includes plans to add a gymnasium and putting greens.

And in the northwest, Central Christian's first offshoot, Canyon Ridge, continues to develop its 30-acre site. In the mid-1990s, a team of ministers from Central was sent to the rapidly developing northwest to start Canyon Ridge, and despite a host of zoning challenges from noise-concerned neighbors, it now hosts more than 1,500 a week.

What these churches have in common is more than giant shiny facilities. Despite some of their loose affiliations with traditional denominations, the key to their popularity is casual style, contemporary music and relevant messages, according to Vaughn.

"It's contemporary worship with a conservative message," Vaughn said. Pastors and congregants at the area's biggest Christian churches echoed Vaughn's theory, saying that a large portion of baby boomers would rather have guitars, golf shirts and a practical spiritual message instead of antiquated language, brow-beating and somber hymns -- from which many fled after childhood.

"We're doing away with tradition. People are tired of formalism," the Rev. Paul Goulet of International said. "People want to experience God, and they don't want the baggage they may have from the church of their youth."

"Our worship is upbeat and celebrative," said the Rev. Michael Rochelle of Shadow Hills. "We try not to exclude people. You don't get anywhere with an antagonistic approach."

"We deliver the Christian message in a relevant manner," Appel said. "It is a strong unfiltered message, presented in a way that people can understand and apply to their lives."

Central Christian marketers describe the church as a "nonthreatening, contemporary worship environment" in recent brochures. "People are busy today. They want something practical. With this building, we tried to design a people center," Appel said. "It's not opulent at all. It's all functional. It's a place where people can spiritually search."

Or just search. Roaming Central Christian's halls may lead one to any number of discoveries -- in addition to the cafe and bookstore, the two-story building houses a 3,100-seat sanctuary, 400-seat chapel, elevators, a green room, a few dozen meeting rooms and classrooms, two glass-encased crying rooms and an on-stage baptismal that rivals the best resort's Jacuzzi.

In 1962 Central Christian consisted of 24 people in a rented room. When Appel arrived from Illinois 14 years ago -- the son of a pastor -- the attendance was still well under the 1,000 mark.

Today the church's weekly operating budget tops $85,000. Members of Central Christian raised more than $10 million for the building project through private donations while at their last location on Mojave Road.

"You always get scared when anything is growing," Hanson said. "You worry that you're losing your mission. People may say that you just want to be big and known, but that's not our goal. Our goal is connecting more people to God and Christ."

But, Vaughn said, not everyone wants a megachurch. Some prefer a smaller community, and still many prefer the tradition of their parents' churches.

"The small churches are not in danger. It's a small percent of the churchgoing population, really -- 8 percent or so -- that want a church this big."

Those who do want a large church owe the concept in large part to Bill Hybels, who founded the Willow Creek Community Church in Palatine, Ill., in 1975. The church was based on reaching spiritual "seekers" who were looking for user-friendly Christianity and were turned off by the traditionalism of existing churches.

The Willow Creek Association now includes more than 1,400 churches such as Central Christian and Canyon Ridge, and is sometimes criticized by more fundamentalist or traditional Christians as delivering a watered-down version of Christianity.

But for Central Christian members such as Mike Beauchamp, the easy-to-digest message is appealing. Beauchamp grew up Catholic but left that church, married a nonpracticing Jew, had a son, and wanted to find a spiritual community for the whole family.

"We needed something that would be easy to adapt to. From the moment we stepped in (to Central), we felt a sense of comfort and ease," Beauchamp said. "It was unintimidating, and (Appel's) messages hit home.

"And we like the fact that it's always busy. Every night something is going on at the church -- classes, small groups -- it's almost like a university."