“The reason [Osteen is] so popular is because of the spiritual infantilism of America. Not just spiritual, the infantilism of American culture,” Anthony says. “And he feeds the Paris Hilton, Britney Spears culture. It’s all me. Benefit me. What can I do for me? How can I feel better? What can I do about me? How you can get the best of your life? It’s all me-centered.”Dr. Thumma estimates that 25 percent of megachurches preach the Prosperity Gospel.

The pastor of the country’s largest congregation thinks we’ve got God all wrong. If you need a parking space, God can help out. He also wants you to be rich, and doesn’t particularly care if you’re Christian. It’s all part of Joel Osteen’s new brand of self-help spirituality, and it’s sweeping the nation. Joel Osteen has divined a foolproof way to build consensus. During meetings, the pastor will often field ideas from his staff. If he likes one, great. If not, he’ll just say, “Let me think about that.” In fact, there’s a joke about it around Lakewood Church’s offices: When Joel says, “Let me think about that,” he’s just passed on your idea. “No” is too harsh a word. Too negative. And that wouldn’t befit America’s most successful pastor.

Onstage, Osteen is similarly upbeat. He’s so careful not to offend that he won’t name specific players when talking about his disappointments as a sports fan in Houston, let alone discuss whether or not his non-Christian followers-and they are many-will make it into Heaven. “I feel like it can almost divide the audience I’m trying to reach,” he says. And what an audience it is. Every Sunday, the largest congregation in the country gathers for Osteen’s sermons about self-betterment and positivity inside a renovated basketball stadium in Houston; millions more tune in to his TV show.

It’s easy to be skeptical of a minister this successful. After all, larger-than-life religious figures don’t have the greatest reputations-Jimmy Swaggart, Jim Bakker, and Peter Popoff all swigged from the money trough in the 1980s, and Ted Haggard stepped away from the pulpit after a messy sex and speed scandal. There’s also something about the truly charismatic that gets people’s backs up.

But Osteen is actually more comforting than he is charismatic.”It’s just who I am,” says Osteen, 44. “When I was younger, growing up playing sports, I was always the one encouraging people ‘Hey, we can beat these guys.’ It just comes out of me naturally.”There’s a reason he’s called the Smiling Pastor.

His mother, Dodie Osteen, claims never to have seen him mad. The same goes for his brother Paul, though his senior adviser and chief of communications Donald Iloff Jr. (also Osteen’s brother in law), claims he’s seen him irritated a couple of times. “He won’t say anything,” says Iloff. “He’ll just kind of move on and hardly quit smiling. But you can tell that something didn’t sit right with him. He won’t say a cross or unkind word to anyone.”And that’s precisely what he preaches.

“I feel like I’m at my best when I’m telling people that they can rise higher and become all that God’s created them to be,” Osteen says. “I know that’s [the] core message God wants me to get across.”That message is reaching a lot of people. It’s also pissing a lot of people off.

Joel Osteen has the largest congregation in the country. His syndicated TV program is the most-watched religious broadcast in the nation, with 7 million viewers. It also airs in more than 100 foreign countries. His first book, 2004’s Your Best Life Now: 7 Steps to Living at Your Full Potential, sold more than 4 million copies, and his latest, Become a Better You: 7 Keys to Improving Your Life Every Day, for which he got a $13-million advance, had a first printing of 3 million copies, reportedly the largest ever in Simon & Schuster’s history. And it’s not just Bible-thumpers buying them.

Joel Osteen’s following, apparently, has no boundaries. Every Sunday, his congregation includes Christians, Jews, agnostics, Republicans, Democrats, and wayward folks looking for a pick-me-up. Osteen has converted the Compaq Center, the Houston Rockets’ former home, into a 16,000-seat beacon of hope and self-help. Missing from Osteen’s message, however, is Christianity’s darker side: Heaven and Hell, sin and salvation, suffering and sacrifice.”It’s the Bless-Me Club,” says Dr. Ben Witherington, professor of New Testament Interpretation at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky, an interdenominational seminary with a Wesleyan heritage.

“It is self-help, and that kind of message plays very well in America. It’s the opposite of the message of salvation, which is that you are saved by grace from God. Joel Osteen is preaching the psychology of self-worth. There’s nothing wrong with a strong sense of self-worth, but it doesn’t have to be linked to material success.”Osteen pushes what’s called the Prosperity Gospel, which holds that if you give to God, He will bless you physically, spiritually, and, most pointedly, materially.

If that’s the case, Osteen’s acolytes are truly blessed: Last year, his parishioners donated $43 million at the church’s Sunday services, and sent in an additional $30 million. (Osteen stopped accepting a $200,000 salary after his publishing career exploded.) The money goes to Lakewood’s building costs, international ministry, missions, legal costs, debt on the Compaq Center, administrative needs, television costs, and, of course, Osteen’s North American tour.

On a Friday evening in July, Osteen, his family, and his band of singers, musicians, advisors, security guards, publicists, and production crew have descended upon Toronto. With the CN Tower looming in the background, worshippers (or fans-take your pick) overwhelm the streets outside the Air Canada Centre. Some are in their Sunday best. Others look as though they just stepped off the golf course-polo shirts tucked into pleated khakis.

About a half hour before the 7:30 p.m. start time, Iloff and I are walking through the bowels of the Air Canada Centre. We stop outside Osteen’s dressing room and engage in some spiritual small talk. I mention my paternal grandfather, who was a Greek Orthodox priest. Iloff regurgitates a popular anecdote of Osteen’s from Your Best Life Now: He prayed for a parking spot in a crowded mall and quickly found it. “If someone has God with him in the parking lot, just imagine…” Iloff’s voice trails off. He checks his watch. “OK, let’s go.”

Osteen greets me with a smile (of course) and a firm handshake. His crow’s feet and laugh lines are more pronounced than on TV, his manicure is impeccable, and he has a whole lot of product in his hair. Basically, he looks like a less-smarmy Ken doll. His suit jacket is draped over a chair and I notice he’s wearing a tie with rows of miniature crosses.

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