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Christ Central Church is a congregation of the Presbyterian Church in America. This denomination split in 1973 from the larger, mainline Presbyterian Church USA, "in opposition to the long-developing theological liberalism which denied the deity of Jesus Christ and the inerrancy and authority of Scripture," according to the PCA Web site. "Additionally, the PCA held to the traditional position on the role of women in church offices." It has one of the most adamant anti-abortion position statements of any Protestant group. In 1999, the denomination advised its churches to warn parents "of the homosexual agenda being promoted through the agency of government schools."
Leonard, who has studied the emerging church trend, says it is not unusual for members of such congregations to shun their churches' denominations. "This under-30 group is much less connected to denominations and [often] will not identify themselves with a denominational name, even if they're in a church related to a denomination," Leonard says.
"At the same time, part of the paradox of this is that denominations needing to develop a younger constituency are willing to use the emerging church model and help those churches get started, I think, in hopes that this will have an impact on their denomination."
Brown says hot-button social issues aren't the focus of Christ Central Church. Its membership reflects different ideologies and political beliefs, he insists. "We believe that everybody has to come to one place. We don't believe that the answer is a certain political party, we don't believe that the answer is in certain behavior changes," he says. "We really wholly believe and drive people not towards some type of moral conservatism but toward the Gospel."
Leonard's findings agree. He says many emerging churches are saying they don't want divisive social issues to turn people off. "So if you're going to come to our church," Leonard explains, paraphrasing the emerging-church philosophy, "we're not going to ask you what you believe about homosexuality or abortion or alcohol or drugs. We're not going to make you sign a sex pledge. We're going to let you come and try to have some healing in the context of a group that is worshipping together, caring for each other, etc.
"And I think that's sort of what's happening," Leonard says. "On one level, that sounds very good. On another level, more conservative folks may say, 'Well, what's Christian about that?'"
Separation Sunday
The Rev. Rodger Sellers realizes his church, the Portico in Elizabeth, might be a little scary to some Christians, even fellow Presbyterians. "The more traditional a person is, it tends to be a little frightening to think about, 'Oh, those people at the Portico, what are they going to do next?'"
For starters, the Portico meets in the evening. The congregants gather in a basement and sit on couches. They don't even have an organ.
In January, the Portico's sermon series focused on the spiritual metaphors and lessons in the Matrix films starring Keanu Reeves. "There are some things we believe, and we're not going to walk outside that belief," says Sellers, "but there's a whole bigger circle. We're saying we want to fling those doors wide open and see what happens. Let's see what God's going to do. Which is exciting for us." But, he hastens to add, "It's frightening for some."
Sellers' church is affiliated with the mainline Presbyterian Church USA, which generally takes moderate to liberal stands on social issues. A few years ago, Sellers took a cross-country trip to find out what this whole emerging church trend was about. He visited about a half-dozen churches, posted his observations online and came back to Charlotte to start the Portico.
The congregation meets in the basement of Caldwell Memorial Presbyterian Church on Park Drive, a block north and west of Presbyterian Hospital. The space has been converted to a sort of living-room atmosphere ("It doesn't look like a church, but we really, really are," says Sellers), with secondhand couches placed in a semicircle around a cross and a few lit candles.
On a recent late Sunday afternoon, about 15 people, mostly well into adulthood, gathered in the basement a few minutes before the service began. Sellers' talk is less a sermon than a discussion. The people seated on the couches, even the children, chime in with questions and scriptural references.
"Let's pray," Sellers says, after the music stops. During the next minute or two, meditative music plays as Bible verses are displayed on a screen over disparate images.