My friend Josh invited me to his church. That happens a lot in the South. In the Midwest, not so much. In the East, not at all.

His church is Cornerstone, in Maumee. There, every Sunday, 4,000 people-strong worship together. Another 10,000 watch on TV.

It is a Pentecostal, praise church, with fiery music and a lot of “amens.”

But here is the interesting thing — one of many interesting things about the church: The people do not seem judgmental or severe. They seem happy. Very, very happy.

And committed. “All in,” as they say. I have never seen, for example, such ambitious Sunday school programs or facilities.

Cornerstone occupies a former strip mall. I did not see a cross, never mind a crucifix. The ceremony has no form — just a lot of gospel preaching, singing, and out-loud praying. People from more formal, restrained, or less demanding faith traditions might be intimidated.

Except for that happiness in the people.

Here is the other thing you notice: ALL kinds of people. All races. All classes. All ages. Four thousand of them saying “amen’’ and “amen” again. The most integrated church I have ever seen. Maybe the ONLY integrated church I have ever seen.

“We don’t tolerate,” I was told. “We celebrate.”

Cornerstone’s founder and leader is Bishop Michael Pitts. He says a church should “look like the kingdom” — the peaceable kingdom; the Lord’s kingdom. It’s diversity that’s celebrated but also something deeper. Unity, maybe.

Mr. Pitts is a sort of rock-star evangelist. He rides the circuit — but he rides first class. He preaches in Australia and Africa and Asia. Once a month, he flies to California to preach. And he preaches on TV. He’s a big-time televangelist, and he has his critics just like big box churches do.

Cornerstone itself has a fair number of critics in the blogosphere — ex-members with family feuds and typical church-type disputes and disillusionment. I certainly cannot dismiss anyone hurt by his or her church.

But Cornerstone must be doing something right. It has a presence in 60 countries now and churches in several states. It runs major aid programs for the poor in Haiti and Ghana, where it started its own school. It reaches out to the poor in Toledo with events it calls“WOWJAMS,” where there is music, there are games, and there are prizes for kids, and, yes, praise and prayer. At the Eastwood Theater, it shows family movies for bargain rates, yes, but it also feeds kids and anchors a neighborhood in East Toledo.

I like Mr. Pitts’ approach to charity. It is wholly pragmatic: He tries to find good groups at home and abroad and back their solid work, rather than reinventing the wheel and creating his own charitable organizations. And his church does what is needed where it is needed — Bibles for servicemen; money and food for Haiti; motor scooters for the parents of the kids the church educates in a little village in Ghana.

Bishop Pitts told me: “I am always trying to get thinking people to feel; feeling people to think; and both kinds of people to DO something.”

Bishop Pitts has his critics too. He’s enormously successful and at times wears a diamond ring and a diamond studded watch. He has also, as he is the first to admit, struggled with his own demons. He’s been twice arrested and found guilty of drunken driving and even served a few days in jail. It all seems to have made him more human and more powerful as a preacher. Saint Paul did jail time and so did Saint Peter.

I not only attended services at Cornerstone, but Mr. Pitts was good enough to sit with me twice for interviews, once in depth. He is charismatic behind the pulpit and on stage — a natural performer, and even a bit of a stand-up comedian. He started preaching when he was 15. He never had time to go to seminary. In private, he is kindly, and self-effacing. Almost shy. I asked him why he thinks he has been so successful. He said: “I haven’t got a clue. I am simply blessed.”

Bishop Pitts has written six books that could be called Christian self-help books. They are eminently readable. The man is a master communicator — able to reach thousands.

He told me, also, that he fell in love with theology 30 years ago. An early mentor did not have time to teach him. But he showed young Michael his tapes from divinity school — every class on tape. So Mr. Pitts went through the tapes one by one, with texts, which he also managed to track down, at hand. He read Augustine and the Eastern church fathers that way. And he is still teaching himself today. What he loves about travel, he told me, is the chance to read. He carries his “Bible bag” with him on the plane. While others are watching movies or sleeping, he is devouring the latest in theological studies or preparing a sermon.

This from a boy evangelist from Lima, Ohio, who thought Toledo was the big city.

Mr. Pitts told me that one of the things he is most grateful for is the ability to travel the world and experience other cultures. He says it has made him a better Christian and a wiser man.

The reason he is going to California regularly, usually the San Francisco Bay area, is that he thinks the nation is both absorbing and reliving the 1960s and he wants to go to the geographic source of the drug and sexual revolution to help lead a Christian revival. There, as elsewhere, he is drawing big crowds.

Michael Pitts reminds me of an Old Testament hero — a David or a Saul. Driven, somewhat tormented, sometimes beaten but never down, faithful, joyful. I see why others would follow him.

My friend Josh, a gentle, cerebral soul, told me he longed for a muscular Christianity — a church with some punch and guts behind it — and rejoiced when he found Cornerstone.

I asked Bishop Pitts to summarize his own theology. He said two things:

First, the mark of spiritual and emotional maturity is “the extent to which you can accept the mystery.” Bad things happen to good people and “an awful lot about life makes no sense. But it makes more sense with God.”

Second, we have to prepare a place for the spiritual life. The God life. We do that, he said, by surrounding ourselves with good people and by doing good things — feeding the hungry; visiting the sick. Hence, the church. By placing our lives in that context, he said, we make ourselves “able to see and hear.” We open ourselves to what Christians call grace — God’s power, in fact his essence, working within us, around us in small but stunning ways if we are open, and within human history.

The opening is the trick.

Ironically, I heard Father Jim Bacik, perhaps Toledo’s greatest pastor and theologian, speak on grace a few days after interviewing Michael Pitts, at Lourdes University. He was speaking in relation to his new book on an even greater theologian — Karl Rahner. Mr. Rahner said that grace is everywhere, drawing each human being toward love and the source of all love. I thought Bishop Pitts might want Father Bacik’s book for his Bible bag.

As I left him, after our longer second visit, Bishop Pitts said: “It’s not important that we agree. Only that we fear the Lord, live with the mystery, and trust in the ultimate sovereignty of God.”

You can see and hear Bishop Pitts preach on YouTube. Here is one example: youtube.com/​watch?v=6Wt5vz3lfzU

Keith C. Burris is a columnist for The Blade. Contact him at: kburris@theblade.com or 419-724-6266.

First Published November 8, 2015, 5:00 a.m.