Jesus and the Jumbotron: How Megachurch Culture Hijacked the Message

I grew up in churches where potlucks mattered more than production value. Where you could smell the coffee before you heard the call to worship. Where a good sermon didn’t need slides or lights – just a voice that cracked a little when it talked about compassion.

But somewhere along the line, church got... slick.

We swapped pulpits for platforms. 
Tables for stages. 
Community for consumerism. 

And now a whole lot of folks can’t tell the difference between a church and a TEDx event with fog machines.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been there. I’ve preached in buildings with light grids and broadcast booths. I’ve felt the pressure to keep it polished, punchy, and short enough for streaming.

But these days?

These days, we’re doing church in living rooms. No jumbotrons. No worship team in matching flannels. Just some folding chairs, a table for snacks, and the kind of humble holiness that happens when laughter carries more gospel than the old hymn book.

The Problem with Church-as-Performance

Here’s the thing: when the church becomes a stage, it starts attracting performers instead of prophets.

And let’s be honest: applause is easier to chase than justice.

Performance church might look impressive – full parking lots, booming sound systems, sermon series with custom graphics and merch – but I’ve seen more spiritual depth in a potluck with burnt edges than in some of those sermons polished for mass appeal.

You know what Jesus never said?
“Make disciples... but make it marketable.”

From Capitalism to Country Club

This didn’t happen by accident.

The megachurch model is a perfect fit for American capitalism. It promises convenience, efficiency, and scalable inspiration – like spiritual fast food, available in Original, Spicy, or "Reformed Progressive" flavor.

But when faith gets packaged like a product, you stop asking, “Who are we called to be?” and start asking, “What will people buy?”

That’s how we ended up with “Country Club Church” – churches more focused on comfort than courage. Sermons that won’t risk offending the big donors. Social justice statements that get sent out after the protests are already over. Lobbies that look like hotel bars, and theology that wouldn’t dare break a sweat.

So We Went Smaller – and Found Something Bigger

When we sold our building and started house church, we didn’t do it to be edgy. We did it, in part, because we were tired.

Tired of performing.
Tired of chasing trends.
Tired of pretending that more money and better branding was going to make us more faithful.

Now, we meet a home. We eat food together. We share prayers that don’t need to be poetic to be powerful. We wrestle with scripture instead of tiptoeing around it. And we try (really try) to live like Love matters more than being right.

It’s imperfect. 
It's messy. 
But it’s real.

And these days? That’s more than enough.

In Praise of the Small and Sacred

Here’s to the churches with no jumbotrons.
To sanctuaries with creaky hardwood floors and casseroles in the kitchen.
To Music Directors who pull beauty from everywhere—sacred hymns, protest anthems, road trip playlists—and make it all sing like truth.
To sermons interrupted by laughter, the kids playing outside, and sometimes grief.
To potlucks, porch prayers, and people who show up without needing a production schedule.

Here’s to the kind of church that doesn’t perform Love – it practices it.

Because Jesus didn’t build a brand. 
He built a table. 
And y’all, there’s still room at that table. 

Even if we have to bring our own folding chairs.