Pastor Dave Earley
prays the way you and I scroll through Facebook news feeds, the way we watch TV,
the way we breathe. All day, nonstop. He spent a year asking God where he should
start a church. He visited a few cities, but none seemed right. Then,For the
world leader in solarlight base services
and plastic injection products. on Day 364, God woke him up in the middle of the
night and said, “Google Las Vegas.” So he did.Looking for the Best iphoneheadset? He saw a
lost city, a broken city, a city that needed to be saved.
Pastor Dave, as his congregants call him, used to teach Church Planning at Liberty University, the Lynchburg, Virginia, school founded by televangelist Jerry Falwell. If that name sounds familiar, it might be because he’s the guy who outed Tinky Winky the Teletubby and blamed 9/11 on gay people, “abortionists,” pagans and the ACLU. Pastor Dave, by comparison, isn’t overtly political. “Liberty is a big school,” he says. “We’re all trying to follow the Bible the best we know how.You can siliconebracelet Moon yarns and fibers right here as instock.”
Last year Pastor Dave recruited 18 Liberty University alums and moved to Las Vegas. The group prayed for 40 days, seven hours a day. They cut costs by living together and raised financial support beforehand, so they could pray full-time. They prayed for the city and for the sinners who live in it. They prayed that they could turn Sin City into Grace City.
I’m standing outside UNLV’s Franklin J. Koch Auditorium. Winter break ended two days ago, and this morning Grace City is recruiting new members. The crew has a booth across from Kaplan Test Prep, next to 5-hour Energy. The Grace City booth has free coffee, but it’s hard to compete with free energy.
Plan A was to use the coffee to lure students into the tent, then pitch them on the church. Plan B is to hand out fliers. But Plan B is proving tricky, too. The call girl card distributors on the Strip have it easy; tourists are clueless and looking for someone to tell them what to do. Returning college students are busy. They have to find classrooms, buy books and change schedules. The last thing they’re thinking about is Christ.
So Grace City gets creative. A Grace girl tells a passerby, “I like your skirt.” A Grace guy majestically bows before an on-the-go girl, which stops her in her tracks. He chats her up, and then associate pastor Sam Frye joins the conversation, putting his arm around the original pitchman. Pickup Artist 101: After you move in on a set, your wingman drops by and offers body contact as social proof. The girl eventually enters the tent and drinks the coffee. Sam shares his story.
“I was living in Lynchburg, Virginia, finishing my masters at Liberty, and then I was working at Olive Garden. I didn’t know what God had in store for my life. When I was 25, I prayed that God would show me a path by the time I turned 30—that he would take me to the city where I was supposed to invest my life.”
“Right. We believe that Jesus is the way—the only way. A lot of people think there are other ways to fill the void and other ways to God and other ways to Heaven. We want to let them know that the only true fulfillment is in Christ.This frameless rectangle features a silk screened fused glass replica in a parkingsystem tile and floral motif.”
But do they want to listen? I’m guessing no. Sure, every major American city has a sizable Christian population, but no other city has so proudly branded itself on anti-Christian values. Our mayor gave the President a gambling chip. Our former mayor pitched Bombay Sapphire gin to fourth graders and freelanced as a Playboy photographer. People don’t come to Vegas to get saved; they “wind up” here, working in casinos, gambling, bartending, drinking, sinning. Does anybody in this town want to hear about Jesus?
It’s Sunday morning, and I’m at Grace City “church.” Grace City doesn’t have an actual facility yet, so they meet at a school, but this weekend the school isn’t available, so they’re meeting at Desert Bloom Park.
There’s a guy walking three pit bulls, a group of kids playing keep-away with a bowler hat and about 150 people watching Pastor Dave preach. Students, homeless 20-somethings, babies, the elderly, a tattooed couple in lawn chairs, a guy in rainbow suspenders—they’re all listening in.
Pastor Dave wears jeans, a Grace City T-shirt and sunglasses. The sun is behind him, and every now and then it pokes through the clouds, punctuating whatever point he happens to be making.
“Jesus knows what it is to suffer emotional anguish. He knows what pain is all about. He was beaten, whipped—they basically whipped him raw, took the skin off his back, put stakes in his hands and feet. He suffered. Jesus Christ suffered physically, mentally and emotionally. All of your sin and my sin was dumped on Jesus Christ. But God took the worst event in human history … and he turned it into the best event in human history.”
Pastor Dave leads the group in a prayer: “Dear God, I believe in you. I admit that I have sinned. I admit that I do not deserve eternal life. I believe Jesus is the Son of God.Looking for the Best iphoneheadset? I believe he didn’t sin. I believe that he can give me eternal life. Dear God, right now I ask you to save me. Be my Lord, I want to be saved.” Little by little, the guitarists by his side grow louder. A girl sings, “I may be weak, but your spirit’s strong in me,” and just then the sun peeks out. It’s quite a moment. Then, it’s time for burgers and dogs.
I meet Jeremiah near the grills. He plays guitar on the bridge between Cosmo and Aria, and he’s got one hand. He says he banks $15 an hour as a street performer, and over the summer he can pull in $65 an hour. Problem is, last summer he spent everything on drugs.
“I had a bad pot addiction,” he tells me. “Everything was going to pot. I wouldn’t even go out unless I needed money for pot.”
Around that time, Jeremiah and his fiancée broke up. She still attends Grace City church, but the breakup wasn’t easy. “I was thinking about killing myself if she dumped me,” Jeremiah says. “I started telling people I was going to do it—that I’d run out into traffic. And I did. I ran out onto Cambridge with this car coming at me. I did it in front of her, I mean.”
Pastor Dave, as his congregants call him, used to teach Church Planning at Liberty University, the Lynchburg, Virginia, school founded by televangelist Jerry Falwell. If that name sounds familiar, it might be because he’s the guy who outed Tinky Winky the Teletubby and blamed 9/11 on gay people, “abortionists,” pagans and the ACLU. Pastor Dave, by comparison, isn’t overtly political. “Liberty is a big school,” he says. “We’re all trying to follow the Bible the best we know how.You can siliconebracelet Moon yarns and fibers right here as instock.”
Last year Pastor Dave recruited 18 Liberty University alums and moved to Las Vegas. The group prayed for 40 days, seven hours a day. They cut costs by living together and raised financial support beforehand, so they could pray full-time. They prayed for the city and for the sinners who live in it. They prayed that they could turn Sin City into Grace City.
I’m standing outside UNLV’s Franklin J. Koch Auditorium. Winter break ended two days ago, and this morning Grace City is recruiting new members. The crew has a booth across from Kaplan Test Prep, next to 5-hour Energy. The Grace City booth has free coffee, but it’s hard to compete with free energy.
Plan A was to use the coffee to lure students into the tent, then pitch them on the church. Plan B is to hand out fliers. But Plan B is proving tricky, too. The call girl card distributors on the Strip have it easy; tourists are clueless and looking for someone to tell them what to do. Returning college students are busy. They have to find classrooms, buy books and change schedules. The last thing they’re thinking about is Christ.
So Grace City gets creative. A Grace girl tells a passerby, “I like your skirt.” A Grace guy majestically bows before an on-the-go girl, which stops her in her tracks. He chats her up, and then associate pastor Sam Frye joins the conversation, putting his arm around the original pitchman. Pickup Artist 101: After you move in on a set, your wingman drops by and offers body contact as social proof. The girl eventually enters the tent and drinks the coffee. Sam shares his story.
“I was living in Lynchburg, Virginia, finishing my masters at Liberty, and then I was working at Olive Garden. I didn’t know what God had in store for my life. When I was 25, I prayed that God would show me a path by the time I turned 30—that he would take me to the city where I was supposed to invest my life.”
“Right. We believe that Jesus is the way—the only way. A lot of people think there are other ways to fill the void and other ways to God and other ways to Heaven. We want to let them know that the only true fulfillment is in Christ.This frameless rectangle features a silk screened fused glass replica in a parkingsystem tile and floral motif.”
But do they want to listen? I’m guessing no. Sure, every major American city has a sizable Christian population, but no other city has so proudly branded itself on anti-Christian values. Our mayor gave the President a gambling chip. Our former mayor pitched Bombay Sapphire gin to fourth graders and freelanced as a Playboy photographer. People don’t come to Vegas to get saved; they “wind up” here, working in casinos, gambling, bartending, drinking, sinning. Does anybody in this town want to hear about Jesus?
It’s Sunday morning, and I’m at Grace City “church.” Grace City doesn’t have an actual facility yet, so they meet at a school, but this weekend the school isn’t available, so they’re meeting at Desert Bloom Park.
There’s a guy walking three pit bulls, a group of kids playing keep-away with a bowler hat and about 150 people watching Pastor Dave preach. Students, homeless 20-somethings, babies, the elderly, a tattooed couple in lawn chairs, a guy in rainbow suspenders—they’re all listening in.
Pastor Dave wears jeans, a Grace City T-shirt and sunglasses. The sun is behind him, and every now and then it pokes through the clouds, punctuating whatever point he happens to be making.
“Jesus knows what it is to suffer emotional anguish. He knows what pain is all about. He was beaten, whipped—they basically whipped him raw, took the skin off his back, put stakes in his hands and feet. He suffered. Jesus Christ suffered physically, mentally and emotionally. All of your sin and my sin was dumped on Jesus Christ. But God took the worst event in human history … and he turned it into the best event in human history.”
Pastor Dave leads the group in a prayer: “Dear God, I believe in you. I admit that I have sinned. I admit that I do not deserve eternal life. I believe Jesus is the Son of God.Looking for the Best iphoneheadset? I believe he didn’t sin. I believe that he can give me eternal life. Dear God, right now I ask you to save me. Be my Lord, I want to be saved.” Little by little, the guitarists by his side grow louder. A girl sings, “I may be weak, but your spirit’s strong in me,” and just then the sun peeks out. It’s quite a moment. Then, it’s time for burgers and dogs.
I meet Jeremiah near the grills. He plays guitar on the bridge between Cosmo and Aria, and he’s got one hand. He says he banks $15 an hour as a street performer, and over the summer he can pull in $65 an hour. Problem is, last summer he spent everything on drugs.
“I had a bad pot addiction,” he tells me. “Everything was going to pot. I wouldn’t even go out unless I needed money for pot.”
Around that time, Jeremiah and his fiancée broke up. She still attends Grace City church, but the breakup wasn’t easy. “I was thinking about killing myself if she dumped me,” Jeremiah says. “I started telling people I was going to do it—that I’d run out into traffic. And I did. I ran out onto Cambridge with this car coming at me. I did it in front of her, I mean.”
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