Mmmm...Morford

Who Loves Creepy Megachurches?

But you really don't need to attend one of these surreal spectacles to realize that most of us should kneel down right now in heartfelt gratitude that we have never been forced to endure, say, the all-paunchy-married-male revue of a Promise Keepers rally, or the bizarre pious cheerleading of a Harvest Crusade in L.A., and hence we have been blessedly devoid of the taint of guys like Greg Laurie, one of the new breed of sleek preening pastors, a strange new mutant species of pastor-CEO-huckster-salesman, who leads the big Harvest chant-alongs and who writes milky best-selling self-help books, books that claim to know something of God but that somehow never mention single-malt scotch or anal sex or Tom Waits or grinning Buddha icons or chocolate ice cream drizzled on a lover's tailbone, slowly, tantalizingly. Greg. Sweetheart. You so don't know God. I'm just sayin'.