As a practicing Catholic, Henry Avalos went to church every Sunday. After mass, he'd get together with other gang members to smoke pot and drink beer.
In his mind, there was no contradiction.
"I used to go to church and a block away I was thinking of getting my ounce of weed and my 12-pack of Corona. There was no relationship with God. The spirit wasn't dwelling in me."
Today, the 29-year-old Sylmar real estate agent is off drugs and alcohol and he's abandoned the gang life.
Like millions of other Latinos nationwide, he's also changed religions.
After centuries of devotion to the Catholic faith, nearly 20 percent of U.S. Latinos have converted to evangelism over the last 10 years. Drawn to the no-nonsense sermons on pious, drug- and alcohol-free living, many Latinos say evangelism is a powerful antidote to everyday troubles plaguing their communities.
"They come from the Catholic Church because they receive something better. They receive peace and security here. There is a movement," said Pedro Villarreal, a pastor at the evangelical Iglesia del Dios Vivo in Los Angeles, whose congregation has grown 15 percent over the last year.
"The (Catholic Church) has good morals, but the people don't have spiritual experiences. We are growing because people needed something more."
The shift among many Latino Catholics to evangelism, which started in Central America in the 1960s, is well under way in the San Fernando Valley.
In Van Nuys, La Iglesia En El Camino opened its doors four years ago with just 20 members. Now it counts more than 5,000 parishioners, including Los Angeles City Councilman Tony Cardenas.
Cardenas declined to comment on his membership in El Camino, a branch of the evangelical, English-speaking Church on the Way, which is next door.
Other members, like Avalos and Juan Zelaya, 31, an immigrant from El Salvador, were eager to sing its praises.
"Here, lives are transformed. You are rehabilitated," said Zelaya, a former self-described skirt-chaser who reconsidered his lifestyle after hearing a sermon at El Camino.
"I was dying spiritually inside. I would go to church and not get anything that filled my heart."
The faithful show up to hear the Rev. James "Jaime" Tolle, 54, a former drug addict from Pacoima, who converted to evangelism and became a missionary in Latin America during the 1980s. Tolle, who is white, delivers an emotional, two-hour service in Spanish that brings many to tears.
Dressed in a navy blue suit, with perfectly coiffed hair, Tolle walked into the aisle during a recent sermon and spoke of the sometimes inferior feelings many immigrants have in a country that exalts wealth.
Surrounded by a line of Latino ministers, he told the congregation they are all equal in the eyes of God. He urged them not to be swept away by what he calls the American temptation of drugs and money.
"We can restore our lives," Tolle told row after row of worshippers, who responded by raising their hands into the air, fixated on the message. "You are someone significant. Your life has value. You are equal to the Anglos."
The sermons at La Iglesia En El Camino are so popular that Sunday services often fill the 1,300-seat church to capacity, with dozens of worshippers overflowing into the hallways. The church has to hold multiple services to attend to all its 5,000 members.
Many Latinos who converted from Catholicism say the strict moral code demanded by evangelical preachers is the main attraction. Others said they began to view Catholic priests, their vestments and elaborate ceremonies, as too formal and out of touch with modern life -- one in which many struggle to make ends meet and try to keep their children from joining gangs.
For many Latinos, evangelism also dovetails with a keen desire to climb America's economic ladder.
Many define the picture-perfect, middle-class American life as a vice-free existence. By emulating that lifestyle, many Latinos begin to believe they are on their way to a better life, not only spiritually but financially, said Arlene Sanchez-Walsh, author of "Latino Pentecostal Identity," a study of the evangelical movement in the Southwest.
Evangelism can encompass many religions, but it most often involves a sect of Protestantism or Pentecostalism and is distinguished by a personal experience with God. Some followers are so moved by the religious experience they faint or speak in tongues during blessings.
While Catholic priests long shunned these physical displays of devotion, some, like the charismatics -- an offshoot of the Catholic Church that began about 30 years ago -- have begun to mimic the services.
Tod Tamberg, a spokesman for the Catholic Archdiocese of Los Angeles, said the church doesn't feel threatened by the conversions.
"People shouldn't be quick to assume that Latinos become evangelical because there is something wrong in the Catholic Church," Tamberg said. "As they live here, some may become acculturized or secularized, like their Anglo counterparts that become attracted to different religious movements or causes."
Most evangelical churches tend to be small and provide an intimate setting, much like the half-dozen Spanish-speaking churches that line Van Nuys Boulevard catering to congregations of under 100 people.
But many people go out of their way to be a part of El Camino's large congregation.
Luz Angela Junco, a mother of three who drives from Montebello to hear Tolle's services at El Camino, credits evangelism for turning around her family.
"God shed a light on us."
Before converting to evangelism four years ago, her husband, Jose Junco, worked with friends as a house painter during the day. At night, when the rest of the family ate dinner together, he sat in his car, drinking beer and listening to ranchera music.
"He was drinking almost every night. It was bad," Luz said. After the two joined the church, the couple renounced their alcohol-drinking friends and Jose began working as a valet parking attendant.
"Everything changed," Luz said. "Now there is peace and tranquillity."
Central American immigrants have been a driving force in the growth of evangelism in the San Fernando Valley.
Marco and Gladys Zaldana have run Iglesia Cristiana Adonai in Reseda for the past 20 years. Both were former Catholics who converted to evangelism in their native El Salvador in the late 1960s when missionaries flocked to the region.
"I never heard the word of God until I went to this incredible church and the word of God entered me," Gladys Zaldana said.
Now the couple is trying to do the same in the Valley, where in the last year alone, their church has grown from 250 to 350 members. The pair say they heal and pray for those with cancer, couples that can't have children and the elderly.
"They see miracles here," Marco Zaldana explained. "And when a miracle happens it touches their life."