Getting That Old-Time Religion

Beneath the red-and-white canvas tent beside St. Thomas the Apostle Church on Pico Boulevard, the band breaks into a bouncy cumbia rhythm and ignites a spiritual flame. The crowd packs the parking lot and soon rises to its feet, singing and clapping.

One man jumps almost uncontrollably up and down the aisle. A small, gray-haired woman enraptured by the spirit can’t help herself and runs up to the altar, closes her eyes and dances. She says she is reborn, right there in a Los Angeles church back lot.

“The Catholic Church was asleep!” yells Jorge Ortiz, 52, a Salvadoran immigrant active in the popular prayer group El Sembrador, or the Sower. “The church did not wake us up. Now it’s alive. Right here! Right now!”

To the casual observer, the gathering at St. Thomas is reminiscent of a Spanish-language, Protestant Pentecostal-style revival. But this is a meeting of Roman Catholic charismatics, one of the most important and most misunderstood religious movements in the church today.

The Catholic charismatic movement began three decades ago largely as a white phenomenon, then died down in the middle-class churches during the 1980s. But in Latino communities, the movement--noted for its expressive style--continues to grow and is credited with bringing back many Catholics who left the church to join Protestant evangelical and Pentecostal denominations.

Charismatic celebrations, including one taking place this weekend at the Los Angeles Sports Arena and another next month, are among the largest Latino religious gatherings in the nation.

On Saturday afternoon, more than 15,000 worshipers--from Northern California to southern Mexico--came to the arena for the 25th annual Encuentro Latino Internacional, a three-day celebration of singing, dancing and prayer. On the stage, a mural of Jesus stood behind the choir providing the backdrop as Msgr. Onesimo Cepeda of Mexico spoke.

Families who stood together in the stands locked arms in solidarity, immersed in group meditation. Some became so overcome they collapsed into their seats, releasing their emotions in a torrent of tears. As the choir reached a crescendo, the crowd threw fists in the air and began chanting the name of Jesus as their personal superstar, “Cristo! Cristo!”

“I get an uplifting feeling when I come here, kind of like a concert,” said Lydia Kahler, 39, who came with a group of 15 people from Sacramento. “It’s like a giant pep rally for the Lord.”

While the movement remains controversial among some in the Catholic hierarchy, who see it as overly emotional, it now embraces about 10 million Catholics nationwide, including 300 prayer groups in the Los Angeles archdiocese.

Strong Appeal to Recent Immigrants

Charismatics are loyal to church teachings, but their devotion is centered on Jesus and the Holy Spirit and worship is ecstatic, stressing spontaneity and effusive emotion. Prayer groups also emphasize healings, testimonies and speaking in tongues.

Father Allan Figueroa Deck, professor of theological studies at Loyola Marymount University, said the movement has a strong appeal for Latino immigrants, who find its conviviality similar to the religion they left behind in their homelands. The appeal, he said, is strongest among recent immigrants struggling to adjust to a new world.

“This type of worship responds to their need to give expression to their struggle. It also provides them with a community to share in this quest for miraculous healing,” he said.

The movement continues to attract followers not only among Latinos, but also among Filipinos and Koreans, Deck noted, adding that it remains unclear how much longer the movement’s growth can keep up.

“As these immigrants become more successful, upwardly mobile and assimilated, the question is whether they will seek more traditional forms of worship. We won’t know the answer until the next generation enters the church,” he said.

For now, Los Angeles scenes such as those of the Sembrador gathering at St. Thomas Church typify the vibrancy of the charismatic phenomenon.

In 1984, the powerful preacher Noel Diaz, whom many see as a messenger from God, started holding prayer groups in a house at 37th Street and Normandie Avenue. As crowds grew, Father Paul Petersen, then the pastor at St. Thomas, opened the church to the group. Today, El Sembrador has evolved into a mass ministry that includes a staff of 300 volunteers, a television and radio program, and a youth group that evangelizes in the streets.

From Santa Barbara to Santa Ana, thousands, primarily Central American immigrants, flock to the church in Los Angeles’ Pico-Union district every Friday night, driven by faith, lured by the Latin beat. Some come clutching Bibles, arriving an hour early to find seats.

Even after a fire gutted the church building last month, that loss could not extinguish the passion. Parishioners pitched a tent in the parking lot and gather outside for the prayer service.

The charismatic movement provides the outlet for spiritual support that Latinos had been seeking, said Diaz, 42. At the services, he preaches about topics such as immigration, teen drug use, illiteracy and unemployment. Often, he lays his hands on heads during healings, bringing spirituality to a more personal level.

“It gives us an easier way to express our feelings, not only with our hearts, but with our hands, with our voice. More people are realizing they don’t have to leave the Catholic Church to worship this way,” he said.

Alejandra Ramirez, a 17-year-old Santa Monica student, has been attending the service for seven months. The gathering serves as a catharsis of Latin music and prayer, she said.

“It’s like a stress reliever,” she said. “You deal with work and school and you come here and it’s like you’re reborn. You feel like your body is here, but your soul is somewhere else. You’re really with God.”

Like many at the service, Miguel Morales said afterward that he had had a personal encounter with God that transformed his life. The El Salvador native, who said he was once a drug addict and alcoholic, is a changed man.

“I was a dead man walking. Spiritually dead. Look at me now,” he said while smoothing out his crisply ironed white shirt. “All I want to do is praise God and thank him for what he’s given me.”

Others such as Jorge Ortiz, 52, are bolstered by the fact that the message of renewal is coming from a layman and not a priest.

“It helps that the person preaching is a man like me. The message becomes more powerful because he is a sinner, like the rest of us,” he said.

That emphasis on lay preachers is one of the aspects of the charismatic movement that disturbs critics, who say the charismatics place too much power in the personalities of lay preachers such as Diaz. Others contend that charismatics neglect theology.

Pentecostal Roots Lead to Discomfort

Father Deck says the main concern is fear of conversion.

“Some of the criticism comes out of discomfort with a style that is spontaneous and emotional and has roots in Pentecostalism,” he said. “There is also a fear that this may be a prelude to moving out of the Catholic Church.”

Marilynn Kramar, one of the first to bring Catholic charismatic practices to U.S. Latinos, recalls the strong opposition when the movement began.

“If you have all these Catholics jumping around, you can imagine what the priest is thinking. He doesn’t know what to do with that,” she said. “In the beginning a lot of them acted like children, but children have to grow up.”

The movement had been largely confined to English-speaking Catholics until Kramar, a blond, blue-eyed Pentecostal missionary, converted to Catholicism. Kramar had been evangelizing in Latin America when she felt a calling to serve the Catholic Church. With her Assemblies of God roots and passionate style, she came to Southern California in 1972 and began the first Spanish-speaking, Catholic charismatic prayer group in Hacienda Heights.

That group mushroomed into the Montebello-based Charisma in Missions, the largest service center in the world for charismatic evangelization services.

Kramar’s annual Encuentro Latino, which concludes today, is one of two major charismatic celebrations in Southern California this summer. Diaz will lead his sixth annual gathering at the Sports Arena in August. Still a striking figure at 60, Kramar says Latinos are drawn to the charismatic movement because it is close to their culture.

“This is religion that’s exciting. It’s upbeat. It’s joyful. It’s a spiritual party,” she said.