MegaChurch

Last week I visited a city church whose pastor is something of a media figure with a high-profile ministry, so I was expecting his church to be a megachurch: something like the glossy auditoriums seen on American-God TV.
Instead, it was on the small side and, despite some interesting artwork around the place, a bit shabby round the edges. It was user-friendly, though, as witnessed by the people sitting around chatting and eating their lunch in the pews.
My favourite churches have a tendency to be scruffy and on the margins of acceptable churchiness. One in West London, with a heart for the homeless, has its back rows more or less permanently filled with very drunk people either too incoherent to join in a service or stridently vocal enough to interrupt it. The carpet smells of pee and the porch smells worse. But the prayer is real, and so is the community.
Another favourite church has a dress code that embraces everything from suit to don't-give-a-hoot: cycle shorts, body piercings, leopardskin lycra leggings, and formal Sunday hats and dresses.
And another has people of every ethnicity, colour and even creed, all praying and singing in every language all at the same time, intelligible only to themselves and God.
Another has no premises of its own so holds its services at unorthodox times in another denomination's church.
None of these church buildings are impressive or perfectly maintained. But to the people who go there, both the fitters-in and the misfits, those churches are mega.