But Osteen doesn't pick political favourites when Houston elected its first openly gay mayor this year (a Democrat), he said the prayer during her inauguration. The Republican governor of Texas, Rick Perry, made sure to attend the grand opening of Lakewood in July 2005 Osteen in turn led the prayer during Perry's inauguration two years later. Powerful politicians from both parties crave to be seen with him, just as in the past they paid homage to Billy Graham (who has endorsed Osteen). I've watched his televised sermons, seen him on the cover of his bestselling books, and observed interviews on TV with megastars such as Larry King, Sean Hannity and Barbara Walters. He's at the edge of the stage with his glamorous wife and co-pastor, Victoria.
The main draw is Joel Osteen, "America's pastor". And let's not forget the tens of millions more joining us in 100 countries around the world.
No, let's go further: it's an ultrachurch, the largest in America, with more than 40,000 attending five services weekly and a further 7 million watching in their living rooms. Make no mistake: Lakewood is no ordinary church, it's a megachurch. Looking up, I watch as the walls and ceiling periodically change colour, from blue to purple to orange as if we were at an intergalactic disco. Men on wheeled chairs scoot past these special agents, thrusting cameras into the faces of the congregation, while overhead a camera on a crane swoops past, instantly transmitting the action on stage to the giant video screens above.
Gently but firmly they guide latecomers to their seats, leaving nothing to chance, as if one wrong step could upset the delicate balance that keeps 16,000 evangelical Christians from erupting into violence and anarchy. Theoretically they're church ushers, but they look more like secret service men guarding a president. And as if the stage isn't busy enough, down on the floor a small army of serious-looking men dressed in black suits stands alert, ever watchful, communicating with each other through radio mics. Meanwhile, no fewer than nine lead singers are dancing about the stage, praising the Lord. The stage is dominated by an enormous revolving golden globe, in front of which is a rock orchestra flanked on either side by a multiracial gospel choir. It's 11am exactly and the day's second service has begun. But just as I'm wondering what the Quest for Authentic Manhood involves, the house worship band kicks out the jams. Three enormous video screens advertise church groups such as Griefshare: From Mourning to Joy and the Freedom Series. "I was raised Catholic, but I don't feel the spirit there like I do here." T he praise and worship brought me here," says Natalie, sitting beside me in the fifth row of Houston's Lakewood Church – a vast, converted stadium that seats 16,000.
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