Redeemer Presbyterian Church
New York, New York

Catching up with a few friends recently, I mentioned that I planned to attend Redeemer Presbyterian Church within the coming weeks. "Oh, I love Redeemer," one said. "The sermons are like a really good college lecture." Another added: "Is that the church with all the really attractive people?"

One way or another, Redeemer Presbyterian Church's reputation precedes it. Indeed, Redeemer has become nationally known as a booming, solidly evangelical church that understands the needs of urban professionals. Founded in 1989, the church grew quickly under the leadership of pastor Tim Keller, who had been designated by the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) to investigate a church plant in New York. It now draws thousands of attendees each Sunday. Redeemer remains a PCA church, but its reach is so wide that it can feel like its own denomination; it has planted many other churches in the New York area, including the Village Church in Greenwich Village and New Song Fellowship in Harlem.

Despite its influence, Redeemer itself doesn't have its own building. To their credit, church leaders made the decision in 1996 to be a "multi-site" church rather than growing in a single location in the megachurch model. Its visitor pamphlet convincingly explains this "decentralization" strategy as pursuing the goal of fostering "smaller, more community-based congregations that ser ve the local neighborhood and are welcoming to those exploring the truth of the Gospel."

Redeemer hosts five ser vices in three locations each Sunday. I attended the popular evening ser vice that meets at a large auditorium on the Upper East Side campus of Hunter College. The church won't divulge its preaching schedule, and its Web site explicitly exhorts visitors not to call the church to request one. Members have told me that this is because Keller is such a draw that if it would be known he's not preaching, attendance would suffer. On the night I attended in early summer--and, based on the professional efficiency of the fresh-faced ushers, most nights--the service was packed. (And in case you were wondering, yes, it is the church with all the really attractive people.)

The prelude was a worship song, "You Are Everything," performed by an all-male band--piano, guitar, bass, saxophone, and drums--and a twentysomething female vocalist. Not counting the prelude, the service included seven songs, with all lyrics and music printed in the 16-page bulletin. Most were relatively new worship songs, like the popular Hillsong tune "Shout to the Lord." But two classic hymns, "Holy, Holy, Holy" and "May the Mind of Christ, My Savior," also found their way in. More typical was a newer tune called "He Knows My Name," which seems to transform Psalm 139 ("O LORD, you have searched me and you know me...") into a hymn for the lonely urbanite: "I have a Maker. He formed my heart. ...I have a Father. He calls me His own. ...He knows my name. He knows my every thought. He sees each tear that falls. ...He'll never leave me, no matter where I go." Many in the congregation closed their eyes and lifted their faces in the universal "worship" pose of twenty-first-century Protestant churchgoers.

On this particular Sunday, the church received nine new members, several of whom were also baptized at the same time. A fter two more songs, Pastor Keller entered the auditorium stage during a song that came about halfway through the ser vice. Until then, it hadn't been clear he would be in attendance; he hadn't been mentioned in the ser vice or credited with the sermon in the bulletin.   Near the end of the sermon, the crowd was so hushed that a single "amen" from one parishioner drew a flock of turned heads.   He stayed onstage during the announcements and offertory (more contemporary songs), and then came the scripture reading from 1 Samuel, the passage in which the barren Hannah breaks down before Eli the priest, vowing, "O LORD Almighty, if you will only look upon your servant's miser y and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the LORD for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head."

Then the four-point sermon, 33 minutes long but briskly paced; meaty but completely accessible to visitors without a church background. (After the service, parishioners can buy a CD of the sermon they just heard.) Comparing childless Hannah to his urban twenty-first-century audience, Keller referred to our culture's "meaning system" that demands success, money, and beauty--and how it always disappoints. Salvation works through weakness, not through strength, he said, and the "voice of our culture" can easily lead us astray.

Mr. Keller concluded that the real lesson of Hannah's suffering is that, obviously unknown to her, she was an ancestor to Jesus. From that we can deduce that our own suffering is not meaningless, though we'll probably never know in our lifetimes what that meaning is. It's not hard to see why such a message, delivered in such a reassuring tone, would be a comfort to young urbanites who work long hours and live far from their families without the reassurance that their risks will turn into earthly rewards. Near the end of the sermon, the crowd was so hushed that a single "amen" from one parishioner drew a flock of turned heads. Then, after a song and a prayer, the congregation filed out to rejoin the noisy city it calls home.

In the end, the Redeemer experience, even considering its attempts at avoiding slickness--the rented auditorium, the folksy tone--was somehow still too polished for me. And then there's the way that the size of the church and the personality of Mr. Keller dominates the experience. In a way, that's only natural: he has built a thriving church that has become a spiritual home for thousands of New Yorkers, and his thoughtful sermons are the centerpiece of each ser vice. But the aura of "celebrity preacher" and the size of the congregation, despite the church's sincere efforts to def lect this, was still a distraction to me. Give me yellowing hymnbooks, not tidy bulletins; give me cracked stained glass and a struggle to raise funds to fix it; and instead of adoring silence, give me a child I know crying at the back of the sanctuary.

Over the next several issues, Perspectives will be presenting "church reviews." These reviews are intended to give a glimpse into what is happening in Reformed churches across North America. We have selected a wide variety of congregations within the broader Reformed tradition to be reviewed. Some are "tall-steeples," others obscure. Some may be avant-garde, while others archetypal.

A review is meant to be more light-hearted than mean-spirited. No congregation is going to receive a hatchet-job or "three stars out of a possible five." A reviewer visits the congregation on at least one Sunday, taking the role of both theologian and keen social observer. To relieve any anxiety and create a little distance, for both the reviewers and the congregation, some reviews will appear with a pen name in the byline. We owe a debt of gratitude to the British website Ship of Fools, www.shipoffools.com, for inspiring us with their "The Mystery Worshipper" feature. Visit their website for an archive full of interesting church reviews.