What happens when we look at Chicago’s turbulent 1960s not just through politics or protest, but through the lens of religion?
This question guided a series of interdisciplinary conversations held in autumn of 2025 for the Beyond Belief initiative, which brought together scholars of religious studies, history, anthropology, sociology, architecture, and urban planning. Their discussions reveal a powerful insight: in mid-century Chicago, religion, far from being confined to pews and pulpits, helped shape neighborhoods, fuel social movements, and redefine what counted as “sacred space.”
One of the most striking findings is that sanctuaries were everywhere. Certainly churches, synagogues, mosques, and temples mattered. But homes, storefronts, beaches, and even streets became sacred through use and intention. The former residence of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad in Woodlawn functioned as a private home, but also as a spiritual and political center of the Nation of Islam, hosting global figures and anchoring a new religious vision in Black Chicago. Storefront churches and mosques flourished in disinvested neighborhoods, turning former delis and cleaners into places of worship. On the South Side, groups such as the Black Coptic Church transformed public beaches like Rainbow Beach into temporary sacred zones for baptisms.
Even more dramatically, sacred spaces became sites of protest. In 1969, the Young Lords occupied buildings like McCormick Theological Seminary, then in Lincoln Park, to demand resources for Puerto Rican neighborhoods. In addition to serving as houses of worship, churches became battlegrounds over who had the right to shape the city.
Chicago’s religious landscape also tells a story of migration. As Jewish families moved from Lawndale and South Shore to Rogers Park, Skokie, and the North Shore, congregations faced wrenching decisions: follow their members or stay as witnesses to racial change? At Temple KAM Isaiah Israel in Hyde Park, Rabbi Jacob Weinstein famously chose to remain, framing the decision as a moral commitment to civil rights.
Catholic parishes faced a different dilemma. Because parish boundaries were geographic, they could not simply relocate a church. When African Americans moved into formerly white neighborhoods during the Great Migration, some Catholic communities resisted integration fiercely, while others adapted, or lost members to “white flight.” The parish system could turn demographic change into theological and territorial crisis.
Meanwhile, in Pilsen and Little Village, Mexican immigrants often joined existing Catholic parishes, while many Puerto Rican migrants, marginalized within the Catholic hierarchy, established storefront churches. Religious institutions became markers of belonging and survival amid rapid neighborhood transformation.
Another key theme is the moral framing of social activism. Religious leaders often described civil rights, housing equity, and labor struggles as sacred obligations, not policy debates. Interracial religious councils, including the National Conference of Christians and Jews, worked to articulate the freedom struggle in explicitly moral language.
Faith-based movements also shaped tactics. The Catholic Cursillo Movement empowered Latino/a laypeople to claim leadership roles in church and community. Nonviolent strategies, influenced by global anti-colonial movements, were adapted by groups like the Fellowship of Reconciliation to resonate with American Christian audiences before spreading more widely through civil rights campaigns.
The conjunction of faith communities and struggles for social justice also empowered some people traditionally barred from leadership roles. Across religions and communities, women performed much of the organizing labor even when men held formal titles. Youth activists used religious institutions as bases of power when the political system excluded them.
These efforts unfolded within a city dominated by the Democratic Machine of Mayor Richard J. Daley, where churches and other institutions could be pressured, rewarded, or warned against hosting controversial figures. Religious institutions were moral actors—but also political ones.
The scholar meetings also underscored that no monolithic “Black church” or “Latino community” existed. Spiritual expression evolved creatively. Some Black Catholics adorned altars with African drums and images of Malcolm X. In Pilsen, public reenactments of the Via Crucis connected Christ’s suffering to neighborhood struggles over drugs and immigration. Haitian Catholics navigated language and class through varying use of French and Creole. Indigenous practitioners emphasized religion as lived practice, “doings” rather than doctrines.
Taken together, these conversations suggest that Chicago’s religious history is layered like a palimpsest: a synagogue becomes a Black church, then a Latino Pentecostal storefront. A private home becomes a global religious headquarters. A beach becomes a baptismal font.
For Beyond Belief, this means telling a story that moves beyond buildings and denominations. It means mapping change, collecting oral histories before they are lost, and inviting Chicagoans to see the blocks they inhabit as sites of sacred transformation. In 1960s Chicago, religion did not stand apart from social change, it served as a force to make change possible.