Within minutes Donnie Swaggart, Jimmy's son, a stocky man with an athletic build, dressed nattily in a dark, double-breasted suit, came bounding from the backstage area, almost running toward me. In fact, I'll check with Donnie right now.' 'And the other thing,' the usher announced brusquely, 'I'm pretty sure Don and Jimmy don't want you here. Indeed, the entire wraparound balcony of the octagonal building was closed, shrouded in darkness, and huge sections of the main floor had been cordoned off by dark, burgundy curtains, which matched the carpeting and the blazers worn by the ushers. The last time I had seen Swaggart on television, which was several years ago, it had occurred to me that all the camera angles had been rather narrow, suggesting that they were trying to cover up for the fact that the congregation was small. 'First of all,' he barked, 'no pictures in here.'Īs I looked around, I understood why. 'I understand you're a reporter,' he said. I had just settled into my seat in the sanctuary, already awash in klieg lights, when one of the ushers, dressed in a burgundy sport coat, sat down beside me. I had made the mistake of chatting with the women at the welcome booth and, in the process, disclosed navely that I was in town to write an article about Jimmy Swaggart Ministries ten years after his celebrated-and very public-downfall. You've got to keep the people's attention.' Throughout a raucous and controversial career now in its fourth decade, Jimmy Swaggart has rarely had trouble keeping people's attention.ĭespite the dearth of congregants, my presence at Family Life Center was not entirely welcome. You've got to keep the people's attention. 'You have to be loud one moment and quiet the next. 'Preaching is like an orchestra,' Swaggart told me.

Instead, he bobs and weaves and shouts and cries and spins his own magic. To suggest that Swaggart is behind the pulpit, however, is somewhat misleading he has never submitted easily to the constraints of pulpits-or, for that matter, to any other conventional boundaries.

Such a contrast might occasion yet another commentary on spiritual apathy, misplaced priorities, and the false gods of consumerism, until one remembers that the preacher behind the pulpit at the Family Life Center on this Sunday-as well as most Sundays-is a man named Jimmy Swaggart. The parking lot for the shopping mall is burgeoning on a Sunday, while the acres of parking for the Family Life Center are nearly vacant.

The Family Life Center lies on the edge of Baton Rouge just down the road from the newly opened Mall of Louisiana.

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