SCHENECTADY — For some new immigrants entering the United States, the biggest shock is discovering that even their religion is subtly different. Churches, synagogues and temples seemed to offer a taste of home in the overwhelming first months in their new country. But some don’t find much comfort there.

“For me, God doesn’t speak English,” said Olga Tapia. “No, that’s a joke. Mostly. But seriously, the thing you lose when you’re immersing in a new culture is your religious background, to worship God in your own language.”

It’s not just the language: The American church music and solemn, Puritan-steeped traditions can be such a shock that many Christian immigrants feel completely adrift.

“When you come, you feel like a stranger,” said Ramon Diaz, who arrived from the Dominican Republic in 1970.

Tapia didn’t expect to have such a hard time — she’s not technically an immigrant. She grew up in Puerto Rico speaking Spanish before she moved to New York in 1981. But Puerto Ricans said the U.S. mainland is so different from their island that they might as well have entered a new country.

Tapia now ministers to new Hispanic immigrants. Until recently, she guided them to the Rev. Michael Hogan, who preached in Spanish at Sacred Heart-St. Columba’s Church, interceded with INS when his parishioners ran afoul of the immigration laws and even offered advice on how to file taxes.

Hogan’s church became a family of sorts to more than 100 Catholic Hispanics in the region, almost all of whom are immigrants. Acknowledging that their common language is split among a dozen different cultures, they have tried to honor all of the traditions from two continents, even to the point of memorizing and singing the culturally appropriate Happy Birthday song for each parishioner.

Because they had such close ties, the Albany Diocese moved the entire group to a new church when Sacred Heart-St. Columba closed in June. Now at St. Anthony’s on Seward Place in Schenectady, the congregation is still holding together.

Illegal immigrants have taken shelter there. Parishioners have called INS in search of help. And then there are the immigrants who are found wandering the streets — here legally, but wholly unprepared for American life.

Tapia found one man wandering homeless and muttering about how he had expected to die by now. Rafeal Garcia left Puerto Rico in 1994 with what he thought was a deadly illness. The only trouble was, he didn’t die.

“I came here all by myself. I wanted to die in New York,”

he said. “I had nothing but the clothes on my back.”

Tapia brought him to the church, where members paid for medical attention and helped him adjust to the fact that he was going to live a long life.

“I was on the street, like a bum,” Garcia said. “These people helped me. We’re close, like a family. I love these people.”

Other immigrants say their churches serve a dual purpose: to help them settle into a new culture and to provide their children with ties to the culture their parents left behind.

Alberto Patino, who came here from Colombia in 1989, brings his son to a Spanish-speaking Mass as often as possible so that the child doesn’t lose his language.

“He’s in kindergarten and already he speaks English,” Patino said. “My nephew is 7 years old and he doesn’t want to speak Spanish, even at home. I want my son to keep going with the Spanish. That’s why we come here from Duanesburg.”

His main concern is for his son’s grandparents, back in Colombia. He takes his entire family back to visit every year. “If they can’t speak the language, they can’t speak with their grandparents,” Patino said.

His wife, Olga, added that although her son speaks Spanish at home, he needs opportunities to use the language.

“You’ll keep it forever if you practice, be with people who speak the language,” she said.

So the boy sits through Mass in Spanish. He’s not the only child being educated in more than just religion; many other families bring their children to soak up culture and language along with religious doctrine.

Gloria Morales said she brought her 6-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter to church so they would see something of their Hispanic culture. It’s not just the language — there’s the music, which includes a tambourine and a guitar.

“I want them here for the culture,” Morales said, adding that she’s more comfortable with a Mass in Spanish. “Because it’s my first language. But I like it more for the people than the Spanish. I’m new in Schenectady — no friends.”

Morales came here from Guatemala nine years ago. She found a Spanish Mass in New York City, but when she moved upstate 10 months ago, she was at a loss. She didn’t attend Mass at all until she found another Spanish-speaking church.

Diaz said the church takes the place of the family and friends left behind.

“The church is like a mother, like a guide, like a parent,” he said. “When we get here, we need help. Here we are more comfortable.”

In some ways, Hogan has it easy: at least all his Hispanic congregants speak the same language. Just a few miles away on Lansing Road, Muslim imams must minister to parishioners who speak more than a dozen languages.

The Islamic Center of the Capital District can’t offer the same sense of homecoming as a single-language church, but the imams have created a safe harbor for Muslims fleeing genocide, natural disasters and strife around the world.

It started small. When Muslims were massacred in Bosnia in 1992, the ICCD sponsored two Bosnians through the local INS office.

“It was just so shocking, what was going on, and in Europe,” said ICCD board of trustees President Tariq Niazi. “Initially two individuals came and then families and by the end there were 50 people here.”

Members raised money to rent out apartments and furnish them as each family arrived. As for the language, they had just one translator.

“Luckily we had somebody, a member who knew the language. She was from Yugoslavia. She was very helpful,” Niazi said.

Members also raised about $30,000 to help Muslims who remained in Bosnia.

“One of our tenets is charity. We do have a fund, but people go way beyond that,” Niazi said. “The nearly $30,000, that was not a Capital Region campaign. That was from our very small community.”

The congregation reacted similarly when Muslims fled Afghanistan during the Soviet invasion. The ICCD has sponsored immigrants and supported them regularly as disasters hit Muslims around the globe.

“Mostly it’s in response to a crisis,” Niazi said. “All churches have a very long history of helping immigrants. I believe the people from our community, the people who are more religious, feel a sense of obligation. All religions teach us the need to be kind and look out for the less fortunate.”

And immigrants know that their worship center is the one place they can find a familiar refuge, he added.

“They have come to an entirely new culture, new environment,” he said. “Of course they would seek comfort there.”