Print

Email story

Comment

Email editor

Religion

In silent church, a joyful noise

Music loud enough to feel the vibration and gestures full of emotion fill a Tampa church where members cannot hear. They gather in a borrowed hall to worship in sign language.

By DONG-PHUONG NGUYEN
Published February 6, 2005

TAMPA - The woman's voice on the gospel CD belts out Because He Lives from the loudspeakers. At the pulpit, the pastor moves his arms to the music in a frenzy.

The song is turned up so loud the beat thunders in his chest. He closes his eyes, throws back his head, pulls the music into his soul.

From the pews, the congregation mimics his every gesture. When it's over, silence. A baby cries, but no heads turn. A toddler stomps his feet, but there are no nasty stares.

It's Sunday morning at Tampa Baptist Deaf Church, one of only a handful of Florida churches for the deaf. From St. Petersburg, New Port Richey, Clearwater and Plant City, they come to "sing" with their hands and worship God through sign language.

About 60 people attend church here each week. This day, Pastor Ronaldo Feliciano opens services with a passionate sermon in sign language.

Sweat beads dot his forehead. His face winces with emotion.

He preaches about finding happiness through God. He thumps the Bible and points upward. All eyes follow his hands.

When they pray, no eyes close and no heads bow.

A church member walks to the podium to lead them in song. She signs in silence, while a person at the microphone speaks the words, interpreting for the handful of churchgoers who can hear. When the song is over, applause echoes in the hall.

They are asked to greet one another. But instead of people quietly shaking hands with their neighbors, the room comes alive.

For 15 silent minutes, members work the room, making sure they shake every hand, pat every shoulder. Smiles, and then swift-moving hands, signing "What is your name?"

"Everyone is very friendly, very close," Feliciano says later as church members swarm him for attention. They tap his shoulder, try to get him to look their way, to read their hands.

"I enjoyed the service today."

"Please pray for ..."

"How are you?"

Led by a pastor who just celebrated his first year, this little-known congregation that meets in a borrowed church hall on Sligh Avenue is different from the outside world.

But they want to worship just the same.

When the Rev. Tommy Wood took over Carrollwood Baptist Church in 1986, the congregation was a melting pot that included about a dozen hearing-impaired members.

Wood traveled the world to find senior pastors: to Manila to reach out to his Filipino congregants; to Chile for a Spanish speaker. A search for a Haitian pastor led him to Orlando; and for the hearing-impaired, he went to South Florida.

"That was what the church was there for, to speak from the language of the people of Tampa," said Wood, now a pastor in Decatur, Ga.

For church services for the deaf, Wood hired a senior pastor whose wife was hearing-impaired. The pastor knew how to sign, so from a pulpit in the church's fellowship hall, he led sign-language services. A hearing person served as interpreter, speaking the sermon.

The church was well-known throughout the country for its diverse congregation, Wood said. By the time he left in 1995, membership among the deaf congregants swelled to 181.

"It was incredible," he said.

In October of that year, the deaf church broke out on its own, becoming the only full-time church for the deaf of any denomination in Florida.

Pastors came and went, the last one dying of cancer in 2003. For a year, the church had no leader. They struggled to thrive, and their numbers dwindled.

Services were held in their homes, and they took turns delivering sermons. Sometimes, they would travel together to hearing churches and bring along an interpreter.

"It was a really difficult time for us," said Patricia Angelillis, 68, one of the deaf church's original members, speaking through a deaf interpreter. "We did the best we could. We knew someday a new one would come."

In the small Georgia town of Ringgold, Harvest Deaf Bible College staff member Ronaldo Feliciano learned of the need for a pastor in Tampa.

Feliciano, who has had only partial hearing since the age of 2 because of a fever and an ear infection, was married to a deaf woman. Both were proficient in sign language.

Feliciano wanted to minister. So he and his wife, Jona, and daughter Beth moved to Tampa. He started the job last January.

Tampa Baptist Church, Carrollwood Baptist Church, Idlewild Baptist Church and First Baptist Church of Lutz support the deaf church with about $775 a month. The money pays for Feliciano, 39, who serves there full time.

For his hearing-impaired congregants, Feliciano offers marriage counseling, officiates at weddings and holds weekly Bible study classes.

Word of his energy and enthusiasm spread. Membership jumped from about 30 to more than 150 today.

"He's wonderful, so very encouraging," Angelillis said. "I praise the Lord for him."

Many of the church's members are retired, have low-paying jobs or are unemployed, Feliciano said. Many don't have cars. Some carpool to church; others use the city bus system.

So Feliciano came up with an idea. From the collection plate, he said, he hopes to raise enough money for their most pressing need: a van to take worshipers to and from church.

Feliciano also said he hopes the van will bring in more churchgoers from the estimated 138,000 deaf people in the Tampa Bay area.

So far, they have raised $600 toward their $15,000 goal.

"It is much needed," Feliciano said. "We have a long way to go, but we are grateful for all the help we have received."

Wood, the pastor who started it all, said the deaf appreciate the church for reasons the hearing world may not think about.

From taking up collections to turning up the music loud enough to feel the vibrations, each person can have a leadership role, Wood said.

"In their own church, they become the people who actually run the worship services," Wood said. "The leadership positions are far more important."

Wood said they develop a unity "in their own language."

"An interpreter is still going through somebody else," he said. "You have lag time, you miss some of the nuances. In a deaf church, language is not a barrier to their own congregation."

Times researcher Kitty Bennett contributed to this report.

[Last modified February 6, 2005, 00:37:13]