Column Storefront faith thrives as churches close down
By TIM UNSWORTH
If you live on the 28th floor of a
Chicago condominium, it is easier to get an annulment than to dispose of a used
refrigerator. Charities will come, but often only after noon in years
Haleys comet is in the sky and not above the third floor. The city
wont take it unless its in a self-addressed, stamped envelope.
However, in the condo across the street, there is a black
maintenance man who looks a lot like Ichabod Crane. Call him, and he will be at
your door in minutes with a jagged-toothed smile and a little rubber-wheeled
dolly. Hes as wiry as a pipe cleaner, but he can throw a strap around the
fridge and wedge it on the dolly as if the old icebox were cotton candy.
Hes a minister in a storefront church. Over the years, he
has relieved our building of used tires, stoves, sewing machines, clothing,
bicycles, fading TV sets, furniture, worn rugs and dozens of other items no
longer deemed useful by the more affluent. In a remarkably short time, the
rescued stuff will go out the back door of his little church and into the homes
of his congregants and their friends. He is a one-man St. Vincent de Paul
Society.
Its likely that he is a self-ordained man of the cloth.
Thats easier than one might think. In Chicago, for example, as long as
one party to a marriage views you as a minister, you -- male or female -- can
preside at a wedding.
His apostolate reminds one of the many tiny congregations that
form part of the black belt that surrounds the segregated city. One cant
drive through the belt without passing dozens of old storefronts that have been
converted into houses of worship for communities so small that they would fit
on a bicycle. Taken together, they may form one of the largest social agencies
in the city. In a way, they meet the needs of the highly structured agencies
that often turn the poor away because they cannot distribute clothing that has
not been dry-cleaned or reading glasses without a doctors prescription.
Few thinking people would criticize the structured agencies, which do wonderful
work. But, sadly, few things are colder than organized charity.
The storefronts that often distribute bags of food out the back
door have the luxury of treating unequal things unequally. They thus achieve a
measure of equality. Those who might be tempted to cheat the system would not
likely do so for a bag of spotted bananas. Besides, these shepherds know their
flock.
The modest churches remind one of those roadside shrines
throughout Europe. The paint is peeling. The art is pure kitsch. The pews are
folding chairs. But the hand-lettered names are capsules of faith and hope.
Fireball Faith Church, Bountiful Blessings Church,
Refreshing Spring Church, Little Mountain of Hope,
Monument of Faith Breakthrough Church, Birth of Love,
House of Holiness, Church of the Widows Mite. An
endless litany of warmth, love and praise.
Some of these churches have grown beyond imagining. According to
an article in Ebony magazine, Chicagos Trinity United now has
8,000 parishioners, some of whom drive two hours to attend. The churchs
$9 million budget suggests that members average over $1,000 each in annual
contributions. (A priest pastor in an all-black parish contends that
African-American Catholics are better givers than Caucasians.) The Christ
Universal Temple, pastored by a woman, boasts 20,000 parishioners who come to
their 32-acre complex within a sanctuary that seats 4,000. The Apostolic Church
of God serves 16,000 with a medley of ministries that includes a prison
ministry and a fine arts ministry that introduces members to the Chicago
Symphony Orchestra.
In part, the secret seems to be that members receive personal
attention whether it be a rehabilitated refrigerator or a worship experience
that resonates with their cultural and emotional roots.
Meanwhile, the Chicago archdiocese has recently announced the
closing of four parishes, all in African-American neighborhoods. It would be a
terrible mistake to suggest that the four old communities -- or the archdiocese
-- hadnt tried. However, the huge old buildings are tired and worn. One
of the four now has only 84 members and debts of over $473,000.
Contrary to romantic perceptions, the grand old buildings
werent built that well. Over the years, preventive maintenance became a
luxury. Now, replacing the roof -- or just the boiler -- can cost more than the
original church. Although the parish may have lots of land, most of it was
classed as a single-use property. Developers wanted only the land and that at
bargain basement rates.
As the parish demographics changed, collections dwindled. The
neighborhood, once as high as 90 percent Catholic, changed to less than 10
percent.
The roots of the closing of these four churches lie in the
inheritance that present pastors received from their predecessors. The
pastors flock influenced him as much as he influenced the flock. The
immigrant, lunch bucket Catholics fought for jobs at the bottom of the economic
ladder together with migrant blacks. For decades, African-Americans were
excluded from virtually all parish schools. In some churches, confession became
its own penance since blacks were expected to go to the end of the line if a
white person approached the box. Incredibly, even the cemeteries were
segregated. The archdiocese was 105 years old before it ordained its first
black priest and 139 years old before the first black auxiliary bishop was
appointed.
Many pastors worked tirelessly to evangelize; but for some an
appointment to a changing parish marked the end to their career paths. Their
apostolates deteriorated together with the parish buildings. The result is that
only about 4 percent of Chicagos Catholics are African-Americans.
Could the church have done a better job? It surely could have,
especially as one considers that it did very little until the early 1960s.
Although rights groups such as the Catholic Interracial Council enjoyed most of
their support from lay Catholics in Chicago, progress was terribly slow at the
parish level. Far more typical was the treatment of Augustus Tolton, the first
black priest in the United States, who came to Chicago with his small flock a
few years after his ordination in 1886. He experienced severe racism,
especially from his fellow priests. Following a stroke in 1897, he was refused
admission to a Catholic hospital and died the same day. Still later, Cardinal
George Mundelein, Chicagos first cardinal, refused to rebuild a black
church that had mysteriously burned to the ground. He pronounced: The
colored have enough churches.
However, Mundelein was followed by others who were tireless in
their efforts to serve -- men who marched in Selma (and outside chancery
offices) and who served until the boilers wheezed their last.
Its hard to know what will happen. Integration is improving
with glacier-like speed. Some of the areas that were once white and are now
black have been regentrified, leaving some African-Americans
behind, and thus integrating the area. Some blacks have made it to
the middle class and have moved to upscale neighborhoods.
There is a black woman who is a Communion minister in my parish.
She lives in the next building. There is a black usher who takes a cab to Mass
to help seat a modestly integrated congregation. And there is an integrated
couple who never miss the 8 oclock, and who bring up the gifts. They may
be a glimpse of the future.
Please God, they have forgiven us and will join us at the
table.
Tim Unsworth writes from Chicago. Write him at
unsworth@megsinet.net
National Catholic Reporter, April 26,
2002
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