Past in the Present

Sitting himself comfortably in a brown leather swivel chair, surrounded by two plastic lion heads scoring bowler hats, inside a poorly lit office that feels all too tight for a man of his posture, Reverend Dr. Christopher Avon Hill, Jr. of the Monumental Baptist Church begins a long story of the African-American Baptists in Chicago.

As he speaks, his words are firm and well judged; his deep rich voice puts him on par with the great speakers of the Civil Rights era. After having been a pastor for over 30 years, he surely excels at captivating his audience.

"The story of the Monumental Church began over a 100 years ago. When the white folks moved out from here, the black folks moved in," he recounts, going back to the early 20th century and the very beginnings of the South Side neighborhood once known as the Black Belt of Chicago. Here, African-Americans sought refuge from the cruel Jim Crow laws of the South. Here, in the city known for its multi-ethnic and cultural heritage, they were looking to start a new life as free Americans. And here, after decades of endured hardship and inhumane discrimination, they hoped to rebuild their shattered identity.

But reality proved otherwise. The racism they were trying to escape in the South caught up with them in Chicago. Confined to the southern side of the city, with white mobs and various legal regulations making sure they could not relocate anywhere else, they began the process of establishing a new community.

The church proved to be a strong foundation for doing so.

Raising his hand, as if he was back at his altar preaching to the crowd of worshippers, Pastor Hill returns to his story.

"In the South, most blacks became Baptist. My great grandfather, my slave grandparents were Baptist. Baptism became a citadel for the cause of freedom for blacks, for the progress of blacks, and for the changing. Frederick Douglass was a Baptist minister. Our Civil Rights leaders and men who fought for our rights were Baptist."

And the church has always played an important part for the African-American community.

"Before we had great doctors and surgeons and football players, basketball players, the number one person in the community was the black preacher, the black pastor. A whole lot of people went to school off of the nickels and dimes of people in the black church. Historically, black universities were started out of the church, with nickels and dimes of the slaves."

Despite a visible societal progress today, slavery and discrimination remain fresh in the minds of many African-Americans.

"The Church was all we had. That's where the black man could feel like a man. That's where black woman could come, and we would bless the Lord together. We had a joy and a sense of self that was more profound than even our white slaveholders', white captors', or even the organizations' that tried to mess us up. We had a sense of pride about who we were. And we were, you know, James Brown's ‘Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud).'"

Looking into the future, Pastor Hill admits some uncertainties. 

"The Church evolves. The Church still evolves to meet the needs of the people. But not many people come to have their needs met in the church. But the church is still here.

"We're going through some rough times now. But we will survive."

Though no longer the fastest growing Christian community, the Baptist Church remains the largest denomination among African-Americans in the United States, with over eight million members.

"And our service is not like a mass. We are noisy. We believe in making joyful noise unto the Lord, because we're glad to be there. Our services are services of liberation, to lift burden. To let you know you're in a better spot," concludes Pastor Hill, before adding, "We are a Black Baptist Church, and we're proud of it."

Walking around in certain areas on the South Side of Chicago, one could swear that almost every other building is a church. There are immense cathedrals, like the Church of Christ, the Scientist, on the South Michigan and Wabash, built in the late 19th century. And there are tiny chapels that resemble apartment buildings rather than places of worship, with simple signs giving clue as to their real purpose.

On Sundays, the churches are open to the community as well as any passers-by. Various signs invite people in. "Wanted: People Seeking God! No Experience Required! Apply Sunday 11 a.m.," reads one. But on the weekdays, most of these places look abandoned. With broken windows, rusting locks on the doors, and plaster chipping off in various places, they stand as silent reminders of the city's incredibly rich, yet, cruel history.