KEEPING PEACE RAISES UPROAR

Church Leaders Complain About Noise Rule

Dressed in fatigues and combat boots, the men from La Hermosa Pentecostal
Church in Newark are on the front line of America's war on drugs.

Standing on corners haunted by drug addicts and dealers, they amplify their
message of God with microphones and loudspeakers.

But Newark police say not all law-abiding citizens of the neighborhoods are
pleased about their presence. They say that without a noise permit, the
street preachers are breaking the law.

Still, in a city where the church vote is extremely important, a feud has
broken out between law enforcement officials and lawmakers over the
definition of peace and quiet.

Street preachers have long been a fixture on the tough streets of Newark,
but they have begun to run afoul of urban pioneers moving into new houses
in neighborhoods that are still borderline.

The Newark Police Department, acting on noise complaints from some
residents, has begun warning preachers that they will enforce a new noise
policy the department drafted in May. It requires applicants for sound
permits to obtain the signatures of 51 percent of the "heads of households"
within a block of an event.

Police Director Robert Rankin said the policy allows police to take the
needs of the entire community into consideration.

"It's a balancing act," Rankin told the City Council in a recent appearance
to discuss the police budget. "We have to try to balance a person's right
for peace and harmony and a person's right to express a belief in the Lord."

Rankin said that while many churches don't bother to get a permit to use
sound equipment, his department hasn't cracked down on those who violate
the ordinance.

"We don't give anyone a hard time about a permit," Rankin said.

The Rev. Ramon Hernandez, pastor and founder of First Pentecostal Church
Gethsemane on Bond Street, disagreed.

"When I do a service in the parking lot, the police are coming like I
killed somebody," he said.

In June, a handful of street preachers appeared before the City Council,
complaining that they had been told to turn off their amplifiers or face
ticketing and fines.

Council members reacted angrily, voicing concern that police were going
after the wrong element. They said the noise ordinance was intended to
govern things like street fairs and block parties, not drive preachers from
the streets.

"I'm not sure what our priorities are," said Councilwoman-at-large Gayle
Chaneyfield-Jenkins, fingering a gold cross around her neck as she spoke.
"We don't go after the drug dealer on the corner, but we go after
ministers. It's like 'Alice in Wonderland.'"

Council President Donald Bradley said, "The one thing we don't want is the
entire church community descending on City Hall saying that we are denying
them their constitutional right."

Religious congregations form a large bloc of voters in Newark and wield a
lot of clout with city government.

Until recently, the city sponsored a gospel concert featuring some of the
biggest names in the field. Some of Newark's most ambitious social programs
are faith-based. Every council meeting begins with a prayer led by a
minister from a different city ward, praying in one of the many languages
- -- Portuguese, Spanish, Creole -- spoken by residents.

One recent evening, members of La Hermosa Pentecostal Church stood on a
corner handing out fliers about how God saved them from a life of drugs and
addiction.

Harry Torres, 26, head of Warning Cry Ministry, the church's street
ministry, grabbed the microphone from the Rev. Leslie Ramos and began
praying, his words echoing through two large speakers on a gritty stretch
of Broad Street.

"We are a living testimonial how God can change a life about drug addiction
or prostitution," Torres said.

Ramos, a Barringer High School graduate and former cocaine addict, said the
issue is so important that members of the church were willing to break the law.

"We are risking our (public address) system being confiscated and being
fined because ... we can't allow anyone to deter us from our objective," he
said.

Ramos said his problems with the police began after new houses began
popping up on nearby South and Thomas streets. Purchased by Portuguese and
Brazilian immigrants, the new houses have improved the neighborhood, once
in a state of disrepair.

"This is the best the neighborhood has been," Ramos said. "Nobody wanted to
come in the neighborhood before."

But with the new neighbors have come noise complaints. And while things are
better, addicts still roam the street and groups of men stand in front of a
liquor store. Ramos said the neighborhood still needs him to preach words
of hope.

City Business Administrator Richard Monteilh said that while he appreciates
the work of the city's religious congregations, the policy requiring 51
percent of households to sign a petition seems equitable.

The city also is examining what decibel level would be appropriate for the
sound equipment. Monteilh said he would be happy to sit down with the group
of ministers because he didn't know they were feeling "pressed" by the policy.

Rankin told the council he also would re-examine the 51 percent policy.

Ramos -- an unofficial spokesman for a group of city clergy -- said pastors
are willing to compromise so they can operate legally. He said his group
alone has arranged for 300 people to undergo drug treatment, many of whom
asked for help during street outreach.

Several pastors said getting signatures from 51 percent of households to
sign a petition -- particularly in some of the city's toughest
neighborhoods -- can be a daunting task. But they said taking their message
to the street is the only way they can reach a bigger audience.

"Sometimes people don't walk into church, so the church has to go to the
people," said the Rev. David Rodriguez, co-pastor at Ebenezer Pentecostal
Temple on Montclair Avenue.

Staff writer Steve Chambers contributed to this report.