Jay Bakker sits on the dark nightclub stage, chomping on a cigar, his head wreathed in pale blue smoke. His arms are covered in thick tattoos, black discs stretch his ear lobes and a silver ring pierces his lower lip. But Bakker is no rock star and the book in front of him is a Bible. He’s preparing to preach.
”A lot of people think that being Christian is about not having abortions and not being gay,” Bakker tells his young audience, many of them similarly covered in ink and metal. ”That to me is pathetic and sad.”
That is not a common message to hear from an American pulpit these days. But Bakker (29) is no ordinary pastor. He is one of America’s most controversial ministers, dubbed the Punk Rock Preacher. He is at the forefront of a rapidly growing US movement of so-called ”subculture churches” which now number several thousand. They stand in direct opposition to the standard image of wealthy suburban ”megachurches” with congregations who campaign vociferously on a range of social issues from abortion to gay marriage.
But Bakker is attracting headlines not just for his message, but also for who he is. Jay Bakker is the son of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, America’s most famous evangelical Christians, whom many see as giving birth to modern evangelism with its glamour, unbridled wealth and huge political influence.
Jim Bakker pioneered the use of television in US Christianity with his Praise The Lord show. The PTL Club, on which a young Jay Bakker often appeared, ended up raising more than $500-million for the Bakker’s empire. It allowed the family to create the Heritage USA Christian theme park in South Carolina and live a life of opulence that included six homes, a Rolls-Royce, bodyguards and an air-conditioned kennel for their dog.
Such a background now puts the younger Bakker’s alternative ministry firmly in the spotlight. He was profiled in The New York Times last month. He has written one book and is mulling over an offer to write another. Bakker is brutally blunt about megachurches and their celebrity pastors whose political influence is often only matched by their capacity to raises millions of dollars. ”Some of these guys are just so out of touch with reality,” he said.
But last week Bakker was mainly concerned with leading his congregation in prayer, albeit in a service held inside one of Atlanta’s main nightclubs. It is a long way from the set of the PTL show. But then so is Bakker’s brand of religion. While his father preached like a showman, Bakker has a quieter message. And his audience is the lost and lonely of Little Five Points, one of Atlanta’s poorest downtown neighbourhoods. ”God brings people into my faith who are drug addicts and atheists. People who might steal from me. But I have to love them through that,” Bakker said.
Perhaps it is no surprise his ministry is so different from that in which he was brought up in. For the vast empire of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker collapsed in the most spectacular way possible. In 1987, with PTL at the height of its powers, allegations of a sexual dalliance between Jim Bakker and his secretary became public. That was followed by a fraud investigation into Heritage USA that accused Bakker of siphoning off millions to fund the family’s lifestyle. The freefall from grace of the Bakkers was completed when Jim was sentenced to 45 years in jail and Tammy Faye divorced him for one his best friends.
Soon the former evangelical icons had become fodder for late-night comedians. In the middle of the collapse, young Jay fell into a destructive cycle of drink and drugs. It also left him with a distaste for organised religion. ”Loving God is good but most religion is bad. It just hurts people and I was a victim of that,” he said.
Ironically it was founding his own ministry, called Revolution, that saved him. ”One week I was going to a friend’s house to get drunk or high. Then a few weeks later I am starting a ministry.”
Revolution is based at Atlanta’s Masquerade club, a converted cotton mill. Bakker holds weekly services, and visits prisons and Aids hospices. His appeal lies in his simple services, delivered while smoking a cigar and carried out in a conversational style, free from hymns and worship. His message is tailored to young people put off by traditional churches. ”I felt I could come here and exhale,” said Sarah Jones, a local florist adorned with the tattoos common to almost everyone in the congregation. ”Revolution shows it is alright to believe in God and have a bad mouth, and be angry and just be human.”
Bakker has also impressed some more traditional church figures. Several of America’s largest megachurches are setting up their own ”subculture churches” in an attempt to reach youth.
In the audience last week was Stu Damron (49) a Southern Baptist minister and Republican whose pressed shirt stood out in the audience of punks, goths and students. ”It’s different but different in a good way,” Damron said. ”Jay is no ordinary vicar. He’s very rock ‘n’ roll.” – Guardian Unlimited Â