Across America’s heartland and sprawling suburbs, a quiet revolution unfolds — not in pulpits or pews, but in the echoing husks of yesterday’s sports arenas. From Houston’s Compaq Center, now Lakewood Church’s 16,800-seat sanctuary, to Tulsa’s Mabee Center, reborn as Victory Church’s worship hub, megachurches are seizing failed stadiums and turning them into temples of faith. This is no mere real estate shuffle; it’s a parable of resilience, a testament to private ingenuity, and a challenge to our notions of sacred space in a secular age. Conservatives should cheer this trend as a triumph of liberty and purpose over bureaucratic decay — but only if we weigh its costs with clear-eyed honesty.
The numbers tell a stark tale. Since 2000, at least ten arenas have traded scoreboards for crosses, with megachurches — those evangelical juggernauts drawing 2,000-plus weekly — leading the charge. Lakewood’s Joel Osteen bought the Compaq Center for $7.5 million in 2010, after a $95 million renovation, hosting 45,000 souls weekly. Victory Church snagged the Mabee Center for a song (undisclosed, likely under $10 million), filling its 10,575 seats with praise. These deals dwarf new construction costs—$50 million to $150 million for a comparable megachurch — making them fiscal coups. Cities, meanwhile, shed albatrosses: Houston offloaded a $1 million annual maintenance burden; Tulsa’s Oral Roberts University eased its debt. Private faith has resurrected what public ambition left to rot.
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