Gladys Garcia stands quietly before a room of 50 Latinos. She places a transparency on a projector with the lyrics to the hymn "Vivo por Cristo" ("I live for Christ"). The light shines the words on the wall, and the congregation, most of them from Oaxaca, Mexico, joins her in the worship song. This service, which is conducted entirely in Spanish, wouldn't be out of place in Mexico, California, or Texas. But this service is happening in Osage Beach, a town of 4,000 in the heart of rural Missouri.

The Hispanic ministry at Osage Hills Baptist Church is the work of Gladys and her husband, Pastor Orel Garcia. Orel started the ministry in September 2001 as a Bible study in the church basement. But as the Hispanic population grew, so did the meetings, until they became full-fledged church services.

This is only one of many signs of the largest demographic shift in recent history taking place before our eyes. Store signs, product packaging, television, and radio are all turning up in Spanish, so bilingual and Spanish-only church services seem a natural progression. However, the changes are not without controversy. On Dec. 16, 2005, the U.S. House of Representatives passed a bill—HR 4437—that would have ushered in a more aggressive policy on illegal immigration. If the bill were passed in the Senate, social-service organizations—and even churches—helping undocumented immigrants would have been considered in violation of the law. The bill did not pass in the Senate, but it demonstrates the dilemma churches face. As demonstrators and protesters hit the streets in our nation's cities to ask for immigration reform, Orel and Gladys felt the pressure rising.

"Before, I used to translate for them in clinics or hospitals and fill out job applications, but right now I'm trying just to do the ministry," Orel says. "Most of the people attached to our church are legal, but there's a huge Latino population in this area that doesn't have any papers; that's one thing that I don't ask people when they are seeking help or favors. I don't want to know if they are legal or illegal."

The immigration issue is a complicated one, even for sympathetic observers. Gladys, who is in the United States with her husband on an R1 religious worker visa, says making the estimated 11 million undocumented immigrants legal wouldn't be fair to people like her, who went through years of bureaucracy to enter the country legally.

She loves the quiet lifestyle and climate of Missouri, but seven years ago she never imagined her life would turn out as it has. In Mexico City, when she was a young girl studying psychology, she met a handsome seminary student named Orel. The two fell in love, but were torn apart by circumstance when Orel was called to be a summer missionary in Jefferson City, Missouri, where his cousin Juvel Garcia was pastor at a Latino mission. The program brings Mexican seminary students to Latino churches in Missouri.

"My relative was pastoring, and he knew that I was studying at the Baptist seminary," Orel says. "He told me, 'I'd like you to come over this summer and help out with the music and other areas of ministry.'"

Around this time Osage Hills pastor, Herb Baker, and a handful of his congregants became interested in starting a ministry for Latinos. They invited Juvel to the church, and he brought Orel with him. "That's when we first met Orel, and that's when we got the idea about asking Orel to come back and start a ministry for the Latinos here in the Lake of the Ozarks area," Baker says.

In February 2005, Orel returned to Mexico to marry Gladys and to finally bring her to the U.S. The couple have been partners in ministry ever since.

The Lake region is one of Missouri's primary tourist destinations and draws more than 5 million visitors each year. The new immigrants work at the area's many restaurants and resorts, and church services are held on Saturdays at 7 P.M. to accommodate their schedules.

"Sunday morning is a major turnover day at many of the resorts; it's a busy day for the workers who are employed by those resorts," Baker says.

One of the challenges the Garcias face, beyond schedule conflicts, is how to share an evangelical message with people who are coming out of paganish backgrounds. Oaxaca, where the majority of church members are from, is one of the states in Mexico with the largest number of indigenous tribal groups. For groups like the Zapotecans, who speak in an indigenous tongue, Spanish is itself a second language.

"The Roman Catholicism in Mexico is more like paganism because they have the ancient Mexican religious traditions like witchcraft or Mayan animism mixed with their Catholicism," Orel says. "It presents a challenge to witness Christ to them. You need to make sure they understand what salvation is about."

The Garcias' method is to teach them Bible stories—from Genesis to Jesus. At first, some in the congregation felt like children. They didn't understand why they needed to know those simple stories, but as the lessons progressed, the message became clearer. "This method of chronological Bible teaching works well for tribal groups," Orel says, "and for those who have only a superficial understanding of the gospel."

Osage Hill's Spanish services once had only a tape player to accompany worship. Now drums, guitars, a bass, and other instruments accompany the multimedia service.

The ministry's outreach goes beyond the weekly services. Children meet regularly to play basketball on the church playground. And Gladys and Orel make house visits to people in the community. "Sometimes we invite them to church, and sometimes it's just nice to chat," Gladys says in Spanish.

They also have a prison ministry. Every Thursday Orel and Enrique Muruato, an Argentinean who directs a community center in Lake of the Ozarks, visit the Morgan County jail. Illegal immigrants from Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, and other countries are sent there to await deportation. Orel and Muruato minister to about 40 people at the jail each week.

The Spanish congregation and the main congregation at Osage Hills don't mix often. Occasionally a member will attend the other service, but the language barrier is a major obstacle. "The biggest challenges are cultural and language differences," says Gladys, who is only now, after a year of intense study, starting to speak English.

Still, relationships are being forged despite those barriers. The Spanish church holds an annual Christmas dinner for the main congregation, and last year Baker and his family traveled to Mexico on a mission trip where they met Orel's and Gladys's families.

Baker's advice for churches wishing to start Latino ministries is to begin by examining the community. "If you feel there is a significant Latino demographic in your population, then pray that God will allow you to be a part of that ministry, and look for someone who can lead it—a Spanish-speaking pastor," he says. Setting up his church's Hispanic ministry wasn't simple, but according to Baker, "It's a great opportunity to provide an evangelical church service for Spanish-speaking people in our community, because otherwise they just won't have that influence in their lives."