Text size:

Preaching on the street

By Marlene Naanes | mnaanes@am-ny.com

10:51 AM EDT, April 8, 2008

Street Preachers Melvin Cannon, Charles Owens, Barry Reid (left to right) sing songs of praise in the Times Square Subway Terminal. (Marlene Naanes)

Derek Vance sometimes spends four days straight at his church's 42nd Street Soul Saving Station in the Times Square subway terminal, preaching and offering religious tracts to some of the city's most hurried masses.

A recovering drug addict who once stole money from pay phones, Vance began preaching about two years ago, after a woman brought him to bible study; soon afterwards, he received a life-saving kidney transplant. Now an assistant pastor at a small Baptist congregation in Manhattan, he spends his time, he says, saving people from hell.

Not that saving them comes easy. "You get mockers," says Vance. "I've gotten spit on, I've gotten locked up..."

It's unclear how many street preachers there are in New York, where the city's crowded streets offer plenty of possible converts. Although not all are from organized houses of worship, Christians are the largest contingent, but there are Chabad-Lubavitch followers laying tefillin on passersby in Union Square and Jehova's Witnesses handing out religious magazines in Jackson Heights.

Street evangelism has fallen slightly, said Darryl Trimiew, chair of the Philosophy and Religion department at Medgar Evers College, but, he says, the bible advocates the practice, and Jesus could be considered its pioneer. Once a street preacher himself, Trimiew says it can be effective as long as listeners do not feel cornered.

"There are some people who -- for whatever reason -- won't darken the door of the church," he said. "Maybe they've been to church and had a bad experience, and it reaches them when they hear the gospel again."

The pastor of Vance's church, Brian Kelly, estimates that his subway outreach draws in at least one person a day who asks to be saved, but he and other preachers estimate their pamphlets and preaching can reach hundreds of people a day. Some people even ask preachers to read the bible to them at their homes, but there are many negative reactions, too, said a Johavah's Witness at a Jackson Heights subway stop.

"I say, for me, it's better that people say I hate you than if they ignore me," said Mercedes Nunez. "It's important they know that I'm here and know what I teach."

Made Over brings the message to the masses in a different form. A trio of men who sing gospel songs in harmony, they often draw crowds of listeners who give money, clap, cheer and dance through their performances. "It's fantastic," said Frederik Johansson, who stopped to listen to the men on a street corner in Harlem. "It's easier to take it into your heart. They do not push their message on you."

The men, who once sang in secular groups, met nine years ago at a shelter when they were recovering from addiction to alcohol or drugs, and pledged to sing gospel hymns to reach others.

"We don't try to challenge anybody's beliefs," group leader Charles Owens said. "We work our vocals that god gave us, and we touch people. I'm a harmony freak. I'm really hooked on it. It heals me."