By Cathrin Gilbert
This expansion of evangelical charismatic churches worries Reinhard Hempelmann, director of the Protestant Center for Religious and Ideological Issues in Berlin. "This faith in affluence is addictive." Perhaps Hempelmann, as a theologian, is not entirely neutral on the issue. He is familiar with the problems of the traditional churches as they lose more and more members, some to Pentecostal communities. Every human being has the right to choose his place of worship, says Hempelmann, but he disapproves of the notion of buying salvation.
Bordon is familiar with such criticism. He wonders what can be so wrong with helping the weaker members of society to gain structure in their lives. Evangélicos donate one-tenth of their income to their church and they believe that the bigger the offering, the greater are their chances of securing happiness and success. According to estimates from Brazil, the FIFA World Player of the Year, Kaká of AC Milan, sends about €770,000 ($1.1 million) to Brazil each year. It is seen as a sign of God -- and that he probably donated too little -- when a player is unsuccessful or injures himself. The offering of one-tenth of one's income is a "sign of man's loyalty to God," preaches the Universal Church.
Those who refuse to pay are cheating God and can expect the devil to rule their lives. This is nothing but a theology of accumulating wealth, critics like Alexandre Fonseca of the University of São Paulo say derisively.
The members do not know what exactly happens to their donations, which they pay by credit card or direct debit. Bordon says that he cannot monitor what happens to his money. He assumes that it is invested in community centers in poor areas, in food for brothers and sisters and in education. "But isn't trust a part of faith?" he asks.
In 2005, an Evangélico bishop was arrested when his private jet landed in the Brazilian capital Brasilia. The police searched his luggage and seized seven suitcases filled with about 10 million reais in small bills, or about €3.5 million ($5.1 million). The bishop, Ramos da Silva, explained that the money was the weekend's one-tenth offering from congregations in the Amazon region, one of Brazil's poorest.
A year and a half ago, police in the United States arrested Estevam and Sônia Hernandes, the couple that founded the Reborn in Christ church, with $56,000 (€39,000) in their luggage. They were sentenced to five months in prison for trying to smuggle the money into the country. They are under investigation in Brazil for money laundering. The São Paulo district attorney's office also contacted authorities in Italy to inquire about the relationship between football star Kaká and the preacher couple, whose assets are estimated to be worth €52 million ($75 million).
Kaká is also believed to have visited the Hernandeses frequently at their mansion in São Paulo. He donated the FIFA trophy he was given in December to the church during a rally. It now stands in the church's main building in São Paulo, where Kaká was married in 2005. The guest list included former Brazilian national team player Ronaldo and Bayern Munich's Zé Roberto. The Hernandes children were witnesses. Kaká seemed unimpressed by the allegations against the leaders of his church. "I have never, not even for a moment, questioned their honesty and integrity," he said, even after the church leaders had been convicted.
Building a Media Empire
Bordon says that he has heard about the problems at Reborn in Christ, but that he isn't sure what to make of them. What is important to him, he says, is that his fellow players find their way to the Lord.
Bayern Munich player Lúcio has no qualms about advertising his faith. The Audi he drives, which the team owns, is adorned with a sticker proclaiming his life motto: "Jesus Loves You." The club's management, including manager Uli Hoeness, has no problem with this. For them, the Brazilians are model professional athletes. They don't leave team Christmas parties early to spend the night carousing in clubs, they have stable family lives and they don't get drunk at the annual Oktoberfest.
Evangélicos have even built a small media empire in Brazil. In 1989, the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God bought Record, a television and radio network, for the equivalent of €43 million ($62 million). It now owns about 60 radio stations, a newspaper and book publishing house and a record company that specializes in gospel music.
TV Record airs regular broadcasts of prayer ceremonies. It has managed to lure away top presenters from rival stations while well-known screenplay writers provide the station with a Christian soap opera -- "Storm of Love" for the born-again. Today TV Record is Brazil's second-largest television network and it has plans to develop a sort of Pentecostal-Charismatic version of CNN that would broadcast in Spanish and English. As a result, says Edir Macedo Bezerra, founder of the Universal Church, the gospel can be "preached to all corners and ends of the earth."
But until this network circles the globe, church members still pray in gymnasiums or unadorned conference rooms, as they are doing on a Sunday afternoon on the second floor of an office building in Stuttgart's Zuffenhausen district, at a service of the Brazilian Christian Gospel Community. The sun is shining through a large wall of windows, a few candles decorate the room, there is a drum set on the stage, and the parquet floor is freshly swept. Hundreds of believers have come to attend the service. A man wearing silver-framed glasses and a checkered business shirt is standing at the podium. His name is Jeronimo Maria Barreto Claudemir da Silva, a.k.a. Cacau, and he has been a forward with the Bundesliga club VfB Stuttgart for the past five years.
The football players are the stars in the German evangelical congregations. After saying a few words of greeting in Portuguese, which an interpreter translates for the German guests, Cacau, 27, asks everyone to hug each other. This is followed by singing, dancing and clapping. Then the professional football player says a prayer in a quiet voice. The congregation sobs, and the faithful press their hands to their eyes or raise their arms into the air. "In the name of the Lord, hallelujah!" they cry.
Within 10 minutes Cacau, a shy football professional, has turned into the director of an emotional show.
At 13, the striker says later, he was recruited by Club Palmeiras in São Paulo, but he was dropped when a new coach was hired. His self-confidence vanished. His brother was visiting at the time, says Cacau, a brother who had been practically obsessed with going to bars and clubs. "He seemed so different all of a sudden. So grown up and levelheaded. He told me that his behavior had to do with Jesus. He took me along to the services. Before that, I had believed that football was the center of my life."
Cacau says that he accepted Jesus as his savior. He says this readily and with enthusiasm, but he does not attempt to spread his faith within the team. Not, as he says, because he is ashamed. He simply doesn't want to pressure anyone.
Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan
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