Pentecostal Church Lures Latin Americans Away From Catholicism
0 Comments Published by LeBlues on Thursday, March 1, 2007 at 7:17 AM.
Pentecostal ministers in Latin America are luring increasing numbers of Roman Catholics away from their faith with modern marketing tactics, including caps and logo T-shirts. The range of religious "services" on offer even extends to exorcisms.
It's Sunday night in Perdizes, a well-heeled section of São Paulo. Hundreds of teenagers are flocking to a service in a former movie theater. The boys are decked out in surfer gear; the girls wear heavy makeup and have squeezed into skimpy crop tops and skintight jeans. Most have a Bible in tow.
A singer in body-hugging black leather pants pumps up the audience with reggae rhythms. The young people tap their feet to the beat. Then the house lights dim, creating the perfect ambiance for a makeout session. Suddenly, the spotlights blaze on. The audience applauds and whistles, as if revving up for a rock concert. Beams of light converge on a short man in jeans: Pastor Rinaldo Pereira.
The 34-year-old preacher throws his arms in the air as he welcomes his congregation and steps behind his altar, a surfboard on trestles. Behind his back, a laptop projects saccharine images of mountain landscapes and sunsets onto the wall. "God wants to see you smile!" the minister bellows into the jammed hall. The towering loudspeakers next to the altar throb. "Jesus! Jesus!" the audience chants.
Welcome to Church Bola de Neve: the "Snowball Church" is one of hundreds of Protestant Pentecostal communities in São Paulo. Some 5,000 faithful attend the service their Pastor "Rina" presides over every Sunday. Most of his congregants are under 30. While their peers are hanging out in shopping malls or pizzerias, the teenagers of Perdizes are in church. "Pastor Rina is hip!" shouts a girl at the entrance.
A former Baptist preacher, Rina took over the hall in Perdizes three years ago, wooing teens with marketing methods he copied from the private sector, and selling fashionable T-shirts and caps sporting his church's logo. On the weekend, he likes to ride the surf off São Paulo. A wily angler of souls, he spent six years learning his trade -- trawling consumer waters in Nestlé's marketing department.
Rina was moved to establish a Protestant Pentecostal community by a "spiritual experience," he says. He held his first service in a surfing supply store for a group of friends. "My generation has a strong yearning for spirituality that the Catholic Church can't satisfy," he explains. "Religion was considered square. So we had to come up with something new."
The Snowball Church targets the young. There is no dress code; the atmosphere is relaxed and informal. "God doesn't care about appearances," says Rina, who sees himself as an entertainer in the service of the Lord. His sermons are punctuated by jokes, and he often hauls believers onstage for impromptu performances. First-rate rock musicians provide the accompaniment. So far the concept has paid off: Rina's church chain now operates 26 branches around the country, including some near Brazil's most beautiful beaches.
The surfing pastor represents a new generation of Protestant preachers. Unlike traditional Pentecostal communities, the focus isn't on the collection plate. Rina raises money selling surf wear -- as well as CDs and DVDs featuring the services' music programs. The Snowball Church is both a religious wellness center and a multimedia temple, catering not to the poor, but to middle-class kids with deep pockets. Sales of Pastor Rina's CDs typically skyrocket to several hundred thousand.
New churches hoping to ride Rina's wave of success are now mushrooming across Brazil; in São Paulo alone, statistics show that new evangelical churches are founded at the rate of one a day. Churches cater to all tastes and budgets: Some offer miracle healings and exorcisms; some woo followers with pop music; others specialize in telemarketing. Like at a salad bar, believers can sample morsels from the spiritual smorgasbord. If they don't like one product, they simply try another.
The Catholic Church has been hit hardest. Hordes of believers from the world's largest Catholic country are defecting to the evangelicals. The archbishop of São Paulo, Cardinal Cláudio Hummes, estimates that the Catholic churches have lost one-third of their members over the past 40 years. Seven out of 10 former Catholics are seeking salvation in a Protestant community.
Roughly 18 percent of Brazilians belong to Protestant churches, and half of all believers in many major cities are now Protestants. "A holy war for people's souls is raging in Brazil," says Regina Novaes, an anthropologist and religious expert. "The Catholic Church has lost touch with the masses."
Whereas the Pentecostal churches -- "a tree with many branches" (Novaes) -- cultivate a direct relationship with God, the Catholics go through an intermediary, the priest. "The Catholics don't provide quick answers to people's needs. The Protestants are more dynamic," Novaes says.
The trend is running rife throughout Latin America, once a Third World bulwark of Roman Catholicism. From Mexico to Argentina, the Church is in retreat. In just a few years, over half the populations of Guatemala and El Salvador are expected to be Protestant.
It's Sunday night in Perdizes, a well-heeled section of São Paulo. Hundreds of teenagers are flocking to a service in a former movie theater. The boys are decked out in surfer gear; the girls wear heavy makeup and have squeezed into skimpy crop tops and skintight jeans. Most have a Bible in tow.
A singer in body-hugging black leather pants pumps up the audience with reggae rhythms. The young people tap their feet to the beat. Then the house lights dim, creating the perfect ambiance for a makeout session. Suddenly, the spotlights blaze on. The audience applauds and whistles, as if revving up for a rock concert. Beams of light converge on a short man in jeans: Pastor Rinaldo Pereira.
The 34-year-old preacher throws his arms in the air as he welcomes his congregation and steps behind his altar, a surfboard on trestles. Behind his back, a laptop projects saccharine images of mountain landscapes and sunsets onto the wall. "God wants to see you smile!" the minister bellows into the jammed hall. The towering loudspeakers next to the altar throb. "Jesus! Jesus!" the audience chants.
Welcome to Church Bola de Neve: the "Snowball Church" is one of hundreds of Protestant Pentecostal communities in São Paulo. Some 5,000 faithful attend the service their Pastor "Rina" presides over every Sunday. Most of his congregants are under 30. While their peers are hanging out in shopping malls or pizzerias, the teenagers of Perdizes are in church. "Pastor Rina is hip!" shouts a girl at the entrance.
A former Baptist preacher, Rina took over the hall in Perdizes three years ago, wooing teens with marketing methods he copied from the private sector, and selling fashionable T-shirts and caps sporting his church's logo. On the weekend, he likes to ride the surf off São Paulo. A wily angler of souls, he spent six years learning his trade -- trawling consumer waters in Nestlé's marketing department.
Rina was moved to establish a Protestant Pentecostal community by a "spiritual experience," he says. He held his first service in a surfing supply store for a group of friends. "My generation has a strong yearning for spirituality that the Catholic Church can't satisfy," he explains. "Religion was considered square. So we had to come up with something new."
The Snowball Church targets the young. There is no dress code; the atmosphere is relaxed and informal. "God doesn't care about appearances," says Rina, who sees himself as an entertainer in the service of the Lord. His sermons are punctuated by jokes, and he often hauls believers onstage for impromptu performances. First-rate rock musicians provide the accompaniment. So far the concept has paid off: Rina's church chain now operates 26 branches around the country, including some near Brazil's most beautiful beaches.
The surfing pastor represents a new generation of Protestant preachers. Unlike traditional Pentecostal communities, the focus isn't on the collection plate. Rina raises money selling surf wear -- as well as CDs and DVDs featuring the services' music programs. The Snowball Church is both a religious wellness center and a multimedia temple, catering not to the poor, but to middle-class kids with deep pockets. Sales of Pastor Rina's CDs typically skyrocket to several hundred thousand.
New churches hoping to ride Rina's wave of success are now mushrooming across Brazil; in São Paulo alone, statistics show that new evangelical churches are founded at the rate of one a day. Churches cater to all tastes and budgets: Some offer miracle healings and exorcisms; some woo followers with pop music; others specialize in telemarketing. Like at a salad bar, believers can sample morsels from the spiritual smorgasbord. If they don't like one product, they simply try another.
The Catholic Church has been hit hardest. Hordes of believers from the world's largest Catholic country are defecting to the evangelicals. The archbishop of São Paulo, Cardinal Cláudio Hummes, estimates that the Catholic churches have lost one-third of their members over the past 40 years. Seven out of 10 former Catholics are seeking salvation in a Protestant community.
Roughly 18 percent of Brazilians belong to Protestant churches, and half of all believers in many major cities are now Protestants. "A holy war for people's souls is raging in Brazil," says Regina Novaes, an anthropologist and religious expert. "The Catholic Church has lost touch with the masses."
Whereas the Pentecostal churches -- "a tree with many branches" (Novaes) -- cultivate a direct relationship with God, the Catholics go through an intermediary, the priest. "The Catholics don't provide quick answers to people's needs. The Protestants are more dynamic," Novaes says.
The trend is running rife throughout Latin America, once a Third World bulwark of Roman Catholicism. From Mexico to Argentina, the Church is in retreat. In just a few years, over half the populations of Guatemala and El Salvador are expected to be Protestant.
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