Community Christian Church

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Prostestant Pastors Follow Different Beat in Pilsen

A trio wraps its message in music to start an outpost of a megachurch in the Catholic enclave

Published August 20, 2005

By: Deborah Horan - Tribune Staff Reporter

The lights are dim, and the musicians are young and Latino, twenty-something dreamers creating magical jazz fusion sounds on bass, bongos and drums. The college-age crowd rocks to the beat, and the fresh-faced band rocks with them, improvising tunes that fill the small Pilsen cafe. Few in the audience know that the performers are not just musicians, but newly ordained Protestant pastors, passionate men of God using music to bring their message to the music lovers and would-be artists in this traditionally Catholic enclave of Chicago. They don't mention God during their performance, but Eli Orozco, Sam Menesses and Tony Escobar hope to spread the word of Christ to enough cafe patrons to cultivate a few potential congregants by October. That's when Community Christian Church, a Naperville-based "megachurch," hopes to launch its first urban satellite here.

Protestant churches have been making inroads for years in Pilsen and other Latino areas, much to the consternation of some Roman Catholics. But the CCC, as it is known, would be the first white suburban megachurch to seek converts in this largely Catholic urban immigrant community, several experts said. Though Protestant pastors praise the church's approach as innovative, others in the community view the strategy as less than straightforward. The young pastors work on getting to know people one-on-one, slowly; only later do they bring up the subject of religion. "I knew [music] would be a good tool to communicate with the community," said Orozco, 29, the band's Mexican-born drummer and the brains behind the idea to evangelize at Cafe Mestizo, a tiny Ashland Avenue joint whose owners say they don't mind the band's unspoken mission.

The patrons at the cafe seem laid-back and receptive to the band members, who come across as friendly and fun. But experts said the suburban church's initiative ultimately will heighten the sense of competition among denominations at the grass-roots level. "There's a lot of `we-they' mentality," said Edwin Hernandez, director of the Center for the Study of Latino Religion at the University of Notre Dame. "Particularly in a community that has been predominantly Catholic, every new upstart is looked at with a sense of suspicion."

CCC leaders, aware of the potential for controversy, downplay the idea of competition. Jon Ferguson, one of the pastors, said the church is not coming to Pilsen to "impose our evangelicalism" on Catholics. Instead, he casts the young pastors' work as helping people "establish a personal relationship with Jesus. " But that description infuriates some Catholics. "What does that phrase mean?" asked Rev. Charles Dahm, pastor of St. Pius V Catholic Church on South Ashland Avenue. The pastors are "trying to convert people who already believe in Jesus. They're wearing crucifixes around their necks." Dahm predicts Pilsen residents will be "truly annoyed" by the arrival of more evangelicals in the community. "Generally speaking, Catholics do not like to have non-Catholics try to get them to leave their faith," Dahm said.

Indeed, several residents have posted signs on their front doors announcing their Catholic faith and warning proselytizers to keep out. Others shrug and say they doubt Protestants will make significant inroads in a community whose roots lie in countries that have been Catholic for centuries. "Catholicism is something ingrained in these people," said Ana Gil-Garcia, a parishioner at St. Pius.  Yet experts say Protestantism has been steadily growing in Pilsen. The Institute for Latino Studies at Notre Dame has identified 28 small Protestant churches in postal codes for Pilsen and neighboring Little Village, institute researcher Rebecca Burwell said. Other researchers put the number much higher. `I think it's working' Noel Castellanos, president of the Latino Leadership Foundation and an evangelical pastor, said he thinks Orozco's technique is original and bound to be effective. "They're saying, `We're going to come in and integrate into the social fabric of the community, and that's going to provide opportunities to engage with potential members," Castellanos said. "I think it's working."

The young pastors say their mission is to reach people who might be alienated from their own church, whatever the denomination, by getting to know them in a casual atmosphere, befriending them and inviting them, eventually, to a group function during the week. "We're trying to get unreachable people, the ones who are burned out, disgusted and haven't been to church for years," said Escobar, the bongo player. "We don't go there and preach," Orozco added. "We see them at the cafe, and then we meet in a small group later on in the week. It could be a sporting event, an art exhibit or Bible study. We might say, `Hey, let's go to the movies.' It just depends." Fluent in Spanish and English, and as young as many of the converts he seeks, Orozco can easily bridge the cultural gap between Chicago's urban and suburban centers, between the city's established neighborhoods and immigrant communities. Those qualities were key to church elders seeking to make inroads in the Pilsen community, Ferguson said.

The elders hired Orozco in the spring and he, in turn, tapped people he knew would fit into the community: Menesses, 24, an ex-roommate and evangelical pastor who was living in Costa Rica, and Escobar, also 24, a Puerto Rican pastor-in-training at an evangelical seminary in Lincoln, Ill. Both Menesses and Escobar agreed to help found the Pilsen campus, and the three are working on finding a good location. "My parents grew up in Pilsen," Escobar said. "I have a lot of connections with the neighborhood. "Orozco started open-mike night at Cafe Mestizo after hosting a couple of poetry slams at the cafe and discovering a pool of untapped talent yearning for an artistic outlet. What better way for a preacher to find a flock, he thought, than among the poets and guitar players who frequent Pilsen's cafes? We want them to experience a relationship with God," Orozco said.

Touching a life

Their appearances at Cafe Mestizo have reached at least one patron so far. Ivano Reyna, a Catholic-born immigrant from Mexico City, said he hadn't been to church in years when he met Escobar, Orozco and Menesses at an open-mike session a few weeks ago. Later he agreed to attend the church in Naperville, and he said he will attend the Pilsen branch when it opens. "What these people are doing for the community is great," Reyna said of the ministers. "I'm a perfect example. There's a lot of alcohol, drugs and gangbanging here. I met these people and really changed my perspective on life." Some people at the cafe, when they heard about the band's mission, didn't seem to mind. "That's great," said Lucinda Rodriguez, who is Catholic, when she learned the band members were ministers. "Anything that gets people together."

But others weren't so sure. Diego Urquilla and Raul Legunas, a duo dressed in grungy jeans and knitted caps who performed an acoustic number, seemed stunned by the revelation. They had discovered the cafe while surfing the Internet looking for places to play their music, they said. "It's not like I'm so Catholic," said Urquilla, 22. "But ... I don't hear from the [Catholic] Church at all," Legunas, 24, interrupted. "The fact that a church is doing something that makes me come out, that's a good thing." Orozco said the band hopes to duplicate the open-mike night at other area cafes. He wants to find young people in their element and spread the word that there's more to religion than "just the ritual of going to church."

God is in art, sculpture, poetry and music, he said. Especially music. If the preachers play a popular song, maybe it will make cafe patrons think of them--and their message--when they hear it on the radio. In any case, it's an effective way to reach out to youths, the ministers say."A lot of people think church doesn't do cool stuff," Escobar said. "But we feel like this is the best way to find out who the people are. If we can tap into their souls we can get to know them. The best way to do that is to let them express themselves."