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Gypsy church packed with emotion
and color

I couldn't feel my fingers grasping the communion cup or the bread squishing between my fingers. My eyes were closed and music enveloped me. People around me sang out in an unfamiliar tongue and lifted their hands. I was in the midst of gypsies. Born again gypsies.

My two friends and I arrived at 3 p.m., the starting time for the Grace Community gypsy church, but only a few men and women roamed the sanctuary. One woman, sitting on a pew, wore a cherry-red dress, huge gold earrings and multiple gold necklaces. She had piled her blond dyed hair on top of her head. Her fingers sparkled with huge rings and long, acrylic nails. A black-haired man standing next to the pew the ornate woman sat in greeted us with a smile. The woman avoided eye contact and muttered a greeting.

The man continued talking and explained that the service wouldn't start for about an hour. He encouraged us to stay and wait. We diverted our eyes and watched men set up microphones and music stands on the platform. Grace Community rents its space from Tremont Evangelical, and one man said the gypsy church is around five years old. Another man thought the church was only three years old.

Around 3:15 p.m., more gypsies began to arrive. As the congregation entered the rented church building, each member passed by a table with blue prayer cards. The prayer cards had a form to check for pray needs including prayer for healing, for thanksgiving or for peace.

Men and women, young and old, filtered into the building. Men walked in and sat down, wearing cherry-red, mustard-yellow and pinkish-red blazers along with standard gray and black blazers. Women came dressed in cherry-red jackets and brightly colored dresses. A threesome of women wore black pants and white blouses. Many wore long dress coats and furs. The children wore frilly dresses or silk pant suits with long jackets.

Females 6 years old and older painted their faces with red lipstick, pink blush and eye shadow. The women had obviously taken time to curl and style their hair and their daughters'. The smell of perfume hung thickly over the shifting crowd.

The service began about 3:30 p.m. with music. The first song was a mixture of Romanian, Indian and Spanish, which combined make up the gypsy language. Two guitars and drums accompanied the men and women singing on the platform.

Throughout the next hour of singing, people sat or occasionally stood and raised their hands. The congregation sang the second song, "I Love You, Lord," in English. Most of the songs were in the unfamiliar but legato gypsy language.

During one of the songs, ushers passed a large cherry-red offering bag with a shiny gold cross sewed on the front. One usher walked onto the platform and collected money from the worship team while they were singing with microphones in hand.

As the service progressed, more and more people trickled in. The back of the building was filling up. Infants cried and fussed. Five young girls wearing heavy make-up sat in a row on the end of a pew, giggled and teased. They had thick black hair, olive skin, thick arched eyebrows and big brown eyes.

Around 4:30 p.m., the worship team exited the stage, sipping water from cups and wiping perspiration from their brows. Then the pastor walked up behind the clear plastic pulpit, called everyone to stand and began with a prayer. "Moogadell, Moogadi," he said. "Lord God, Father God." He prayed that his people be blessed and that the kids wouldn't be a distraction. After the prayer, he said, "Give God the glory." Everyone clapped.

Then his booming voice gave instructions to "kill all cellular phones, kill pagers," get rid of gum, candy and drinks. "This is church, not a theater," he said.

He called out for all to open their Bibles to Ecclesiastes 3:1-9. He read the verses backward, starting with verse eight and ending with verse six. "It comes out better for me," he said.

Then he paused and called out, "You got Bibles?" People lifted their Bibles in the air. He counted 10 or 11 Bibles in the group of more than 150 people. "Good," he said satisfied. Many of the older people can't read because the gypsy language is not written down. The children are now learning to read English so they can read the Bible.

The message moved from Ecclesiastes to Nehemiah and then to Matthew. While talking about Nehemiah 1, the pastor stepped down from the platform and stood level with the people. He told a story. After the story, he returned to the pulpit and moved to the text of Matthew. Later on, he again stepped down, and leaning against a stool, he told another story from his life.

Time and time again, his speaking was interrupted with claps and amens because the whole congregation was part of the service. He called out, "Who wants to be fixed? Who wants to be repaired? Who wants to be restored? Who wants to be refreshed?" Hands shot into the air.

Five p.m. had just passed, and he called out, "Anyone in a hurry [to leave]?" The response was a unanimous "no!" He turned to Psalm 51 and continued preaching.

At the end of the message, he called people forward and challenged them to pray, fast and mend their relationships with God. He told them to fast for a few hours, or if they were strong Christians, fast longer. He admitted he wasn't a strong Christian as far as fasting.

He said the service wasn't over, and he asked those clustered around the altar to find a new seat in the first few rows. Now that the congregation had shifted forward, the middle of the church was empty and the back was still full of people.

Music and clapping began. Clapping as fast and hard as they could, gypsies sang in their native tongue. "Moogadell, Moogadi," they sang out.

One mustard, one cherry-red, one pinkish-red, and three gray-and-black coated men served communion.

At 5:30 p.m. a different man came up behind the plastic podium and gave a benediction.

At 6 p.m., people were still mingling and talking. A woman approached my friends and me. She was friendly and seemed interested in talking with us. She happily told us about the gypsy language and that it is unwritten. She said none of their music is written down either. However, gypsies all over the world speak the language and parents teach their children to speak it.

These people are true gypsies even though they don't steal or panhandle, and they live in homes. The Christian gypsies say their gypsy heritage makes them gypsies--not their actions.

The pastor's daughter was aware that gypsies live in Portland who aren't Christians and give all gypsies a bad reputation. She said her people are discriminated against like any other minority group, but she said the discrimination isn't a big concern.

Gypsies have jobs like other Americans. One family owns a car dealership along 82nd Avenue. She said that many children attend a gypsy school, but she doesn't know where the school is located.

As I left these colorful people, the inexpressable and unwritten sounds of their language and the words of their songs were still drifting through my mind.

"Moogadell, Moogadi."