Growing up in the town of Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, Julie Roy's spent much of her youth in a local church.

It was a small church, maybe 150, 200 people, wonderful pastor who was a friend of the family, and everybody knew each other.

As she grew older, Roy's became more involved in the evangelical Christian faith.

But she found that many of the newer churches weren't like the one she grew up in.

They were enormous, 100 times the size.

And they were run more like businesses than religious institutions. I went to church after church,

and I saw they're very highly programmed. The pastor gives a very entertaining sermon that really

doesn't teach much about scripture. It used to be the pastor as a servant and a shepherd, and

now he's more like a corporate CEO.

There's thousands of people that come to the church, and he doesn't know anybody on a

first-name basis.

What Roy's noticed is a part of a larger story that's been playing out in America over the

past few decades.

While many small community churches struggle to stay afloat, a new breed of

mega-churches has emerged. Some of them boast weekly attendance in the tens of thousands. They're

run by celebrity pastors with boards of directors. Their worship services feature live rock bands,

fog machines, and sometimes much grander theatrics.

Here's a clip of an event organized by a 16,000-person megachurch in Missouri.

Heavy metal blairs through a PA system, while a tank rolls across a stage and crushes a row of cars.

The crowd that was wild.

To some, these megachurches are a masterclass in community building.

To others, they're a machine for extracting money from the faithful.

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