Pentecostalism Tearin It Up In Harlem

My favorite writer at the New York Times is David Gonzalez, a reporter who writes about Latino life here in the city. His latest dispatch focuses on the Pentecostal church, a staple in any working class Latino neighborhood, along with greasy Chinese take-out and Kennedy Fried Chicken.

Where I grew up in Brooklyn, I was within walking distance of five Pentecostal churches -- storefront places of worship whose members duck out between what seem like endless hours of praise to buy toilet paper and lotto tickets at the 99 cent stores they're crammed next to.

Mr. Gonzalez's piece talks about the church's plight to hold on to its young while still promoting its hard-line views on an ascetic, media-deprived existence. No jewelry, no make-up, no flamboyant colors, no music (unless its Christian music), no television, no, no, no. And they wonder why the kids aren't flocking to the storefront.


For his article, "A Church’s Challenge: Holding On to Its Young, " Gonzalez visits a new church in Harlem. The characters are all too familiar for me: all barely working-class Latinos, a deliciously verbose Pastor who has a crap job by day but dusts himself off for daily hours-long diatribes on redemption and sacrifice, and the stoic, all but broken elderly women who make sure everyone tows the line of penitence and restraint.

In places like Spanish Harlem, Pentecostals and Jehovah's Witnesses compete for converts. I remember making fun of the dilapidated churches I'd see on my way to Kingdom Hall -- me dressed up in a fierce suit clutching my mom's hand as her stilettos clicked down Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn, she'd look at the church and call the people inside ridiculous. While our JW digs were nicer and the presentation was more restrained and scholarly, the message was still the same: separate yourselves from this world, you won't be poor for much longer, everything except this belief system is flawed.

As I write this post I'm gearing up for an all day event for my silly PR job - the suit is pressed and the pointy gay-as-hell shoes are shined. But I'm thinking about other times I used to get up this early to throw some fabulous duds on, back then it was for God, today it's for a healthcare client. My experience in my strict religion taught me discipline and how to dress for success -- I hope these little storefronts throughout the city do half as much for their young.