(Continued...)

Jay founded a branch of Revolution in Atlanta in 1998 (the first one was founded with friends of his in Phoenix four years before) in order to reach people like himself who didn't feel comfortable in a conventional church. When his wife got accepted to grad school at NYU this fall, he planted his flag in Williamsburg, which he calls, with the sound of a man who relishes a challenge, "the most cynical place on earth." Another Revolution branch recently opened in his mother's hometown of Charlotte.

On its surface anyway, Revolution appears to be part of a broad national movement of youth-centered ministries—dubbed "emergents" or "post-moderns" by the Christian press—that eschew the steeple and megachurch for the rock club and skate park. Wearing the latest punk rock fashions, they seek to convert young people in a language—and with a soundtrack—they can relate to.

"I don't want to be a megapastor, I don't want to put my self-worth in how many speaking engagements I have. If I have to lose my church because of it, maybe the next guy will only lose half his church"But while Jay may rifle through the same used-record bins as his fellow emergents, he breaks ranks when it comes to advocating their fundamentalist beliefs. Groups like Mars Hill Church in Seattle and the Lollapalooza-like Rock for Life tour meld hardcore pageantry with hardline, often retrograde notions about gender roles, homosexuality, and abortion. "Some people believe the more conservative they are the more punk rock they are," says Jay, shaking his head. "To me it's like the same old church system dressed up with different clothes on. Pharisees can have mohawks too."

Perhaps understandably after all he and his family had been through, Jay found solace in the concept of grace. "My whole life I thought I was saved by what I did or how good I was. And then I realized that God just loved me the way I was." Instead of offering more standards he would fail to live up to, grace gave him the consolation of God's unwavering love.

At first, he was skeptical. When his friend Donnie Earl initially talked to him about grace, he thought he was just being a fair-weather Christian, that he was "giving himself a license to sin." He found proof, ultimately, in scripture. He saw it enacted in the non-judgmental support of his grace-touting friend who would pick him up after drunken benders without question or comment.

Alcohol lost its grip on Jay, and he began to reevaluate the more judgmental aspects of the faith he grew up with, particularly its condemnation of homosexuality. "The more I follow grace, the more I'm drawn to him [God], the more I'm willing to stand up for people being persecuted," says Jay today. "This sounds so churchy, but I felt like God spoke to my heart and said '[homosexuality] is not a sin.'"

The decision to make Revolution a gay-affirming church, however, wasn't an easy one. It cost him $50,000 in support from an anonymous donor—the bulk of Revolution's budget. Invitations to speak at the big emergent Christian festivals also dried up. Even his father warned that it may turn people off to his message. "It's a very lonely place to be, people telling you you're a heretic," says Jay.

Ultimately, he decided the risks were worth it. "I don't want to be a megapastor, I don't want to put my self-worth in how many speaking engagements I have. I want to put my faith in God," says Jay. "If I have to lose my church because of it, maybe the next guy will only lose half his church."

As his sermon draws to a close, well after Revolution was supposed to have vacated the space to make way for an open mic event, Jim Bakker offers a few parting words about Jay. "I'm so proud of my son. He's doing what I wish I could do. He's loving everybody," says Jim, peering down at his son through wet eyes. "I want to be more like Jesus, but I really want to be more like Jamie first."

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