'THE HIP-HOP PASTOR'

He tells Sean Combs and other star rappers to reject 'the devil's music.'
By DAN DELUCA
KNIGHT RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
THE REV. HEZEKIAH WALKER IS known as "the hip-hop pastor" and welcomes rap stars such as Lil' Kim, Missy Elliott and Foxy Brown to worship at his Love Fellowship Tabernacle in Brooklyn. The platinum watch on his wrist is a gift from noted spiritual-seeker Sean "P. Diddy" Combs.
The two-time Grammy winner's music mixes hip-hop beats and praise-the-Lord swagger.
And the Rev. Mr. Walker, 39, places himself proudly within the rap generation: "I come out of the neighborhood, I come out of the culture. I know what it's like when, because of your surroundings, you feel you're never going to go nowhere. You're never going to get out, because you have no positive influences. All you have is your style, your music."
But don't think the ordained Pentecostal minister embraces hip-hop in all its thugged-out incarnations.
Earlier this month, at the Bensalem, Pa., branch of his church, the reverend's voice rose to the rafters as he admonished his young, well-dressed flock: "Whoever you hang out with, find out who they're listening to, because whatever they eat, that's who they are.
"And I'm not riding in your car when you got the devil's music on!"
To the leader of the popular Love Fellowship Choir, which brings together vocalists from both of his congregations, the devil's music "is any music that will entice you to not be a man or a woman of integrity."
"It's any music that would teach you to be mean and cruel and hateful, that would seduce you into killing," Mr. Walker says, after a service that concluded with the baptism of his two nieces, during which he sang "Take Me to the Water."
"I look at some rap videos and lyrics. ..." He pauses and shakes his head. "If I hear lyrics that are about killing your neighbor so you can be on top? That's devil's music."
Counseling the stars
The pastor is aware that not all his celebrated parishioners have embraced the message. There's DMX, for example, whose new CD contains cuts with names like "Rob All Night (If I'm Gonna Rob)."
"When I counsel them, they come back with, 'This is what people want to hear. I'm an entertainer.' And when they say that, they're not taking responsibility. ...
"Bottom line: If that's not you, then don't give it out. I'm not going to perpetrate something that I'm not. If I'm not a killer, I'm not going to talk about killing ... . And I'm sure not going to do it just to put money in my pocket."
Mr. Walker has challenged Combs, who regularly attends services in Brooklyn, on this issue. The founder of Bad Boy Entertainment -- who has worked with artists ranging from the Notorious B.I.G. to Mary J. Blige -- first sought the pastor as his spiritual adviser because he felt guilty for portraying himself in a music-video crucifixion scene.
"That's my fight with Puffy," says the reverend, known as Hezzy to friends and family. "And in the last couple of years, his music has sort of changed. If I could somehow convince him to completely change, I believe a whole new generation of people would come into the church on his word alone."
History
Mr. Walker grew up in Brooklyn's Fort Greene projects, and founded his first choir when he was 21, the same year his deeply religious social-worker mother collapsed and died on the way to church. After studying sociology at Long Island University, the former track star decided to model himself after Andrae Crouch and his mother's favorite, Mahalia Jackson.
"All I had was my gospel music and my God," he recalls. "I just thought I could go out there and make a difference ... . I wanted to use music as a therapeutic tool to bring people into the church and help them physically and spiritually."
In 1989, Mr. Walker -- who plays piano, composes and arranges some of the choir's music -- released his first album. There have been 11 since, including last year's "Family Affair, Vol. 2," recorded live at Radio City Music Hall. Videos featuring the ensemble, which tours all year and can include as many as 100 members on the road, are a frequent presence on cable's BET.
Mr. Walker founded the Love Fellowship Tabernacle with 12 members in a former toy factory in the East New York section of Brooklyn in 1993, a year after he married his wife, Monique, who has sung and preached with him. (The Walkers' daughter, KyAsia, is 10.)
The church expanded to Willingboro, N.J., in 1998, then moved its Philadelphia-area operation to Bensalem three years ago. Mr. Walker alternates Sundays between Brooklyn, where the congregation numbers 2,000, and Bensalem, which he says has close to 1,000 members. He recently started another branch, in Newark, N.J., where he was headed to preach Sunday night.
"I like to go into really poor, rough neighborhoods and try to captivate the young people. The music draws people in," he says.
Having an effect
Mr. Walker, who could pass for 10 years younger and favors Timberlands and FUBU jeans when not wearing his Sunday collar, claims that crime and drug use are down almost 50 percent in his Brooklyn neighborhood, largely because of his church.
"When I was growing up in church, we found God and nothing else," says Mr. Walker, who maintains homes near both tabernacles. "When we left church, we didn't know how to function."
Now, he says, the message is also about economic empowerment. "[We] teach them how to find God, but also to get out there and work and go to school. We need to worry about living down here before we get to heaven."
At the lectern, the pastor counsels that "God asks for your heart, he doesn't ask for your money." But later, parishioners are instructed to "put the kingdom first" with donations of no less than $20.
To those who question his black Mercedes, his 22-room Brooklyn home, and the other trappings of success he enjoys, Mr. Walker states his belief that a disciplined life will lead to material rewards.
"This is not drug money, this is not sex money," he says. "This is me putting God first."
"What we're trying to [tell the hip-hop nation] is, 'There's another side to the hip-hop community. I've been to college. I'm a Grammy Award-winner. I dress like y'all. ... But the positive side of the community, you don't represent, and we don't get the attention that you all get. So I'm standing here as a positive role model."'