If not for the 51-foot Jesus “Lux Mundi” statue that was dedicated recently — and the one that replaced the “King of Kings” statue that burned after being struck by lightning in 2010 — and the flashing oversized neon sign, Solid Rock Church may go unnoticed in the Monroe Mélange.
Like hundreds of thousands of other people, those who drive by the mega-church, I figured the statue and the church’s equally bigger-than-life founders — the Rev. Lawrence Bishop and his wife, Darlene — represented the church’s flashiness. It was as though the church would be a better fit in, say, Las Vegas.
At least that’s what I thought.
But for me, that all changed last year after Lawrence Bishop, who founded the church in 1978 and nurtured it into one of the region’s biggest churches with more than 3,500 active members, passed away. I was assigned to cover the first Sunday service, two days after Bishop, 69, died Sept. 30, 2011 of a massive stroke.
When I walked in the church for the first time, I figured the pews would be filled with well-dressed, white members, those who resembled their spiritual leaders, the Rev. Darlene Bishop and her late husband.
Instead, much to my surprise, a large percentage of the mourners were black, and some — blacks, whites and Hispanics — looked like they were dressed to work in the yard.
I was shocked by the church’s diversity and I brought this up to Darlene Bishop and Ron Carter, longtime church administrator, while I was interviewing them recently for a story on the one-year anniversary of Bishop’s death. They weren’t surprised by my misguided opinion. They must have heard it before.
Bishop boasted that among the members who attend Solid Rock’s campus in Monroe and the one in Cincinnati, there are professional athletes, doctors, lawyers and CEOs of some of the region’s most profitable companies. But she also suggested there are members who don’t know where they’re sleeping tonight or what they’re eating for their next meal.
Inside the church looks a lot like the communities it serves.
She joked that some members graduated from Penn State, while others were incarcerated in the state penitentiary. It doesn’t matter if they’re No. 1 in their graduating class, or No. 134 in their cell block.
All are welcome, she said.
“We are family,” she said.
Another goal, she said, is to “tear down the walls of religion. That’s really what we’re looking for.”
She won’t find that at the flea markets, the outlet mall or the Hustler store.
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