Walls That Witness: Architectural Memory in the Urban American Church Tradition
Alicea Peyton, PhD
The urban church has always been more than a place to pray. It’s been a meeting ground, a shelter, a classroom, and a launchpad for change. Whether in tall brick buildings or small storefronts, these spaces reflect how people of faith have made room for hope, healing, and community—especially in neighborhoods shaped by struggle and resilience.
For African Americans, this history runs deep. The first chapels of the African Methodist Episcopal Church weren’t just places to worship—they were statements of independence and dignity. As families moved into cities during the Great Migration, churches began popping up in storefronts and rented spaces. These weren’t second-best options. They were smart, flexible, and close to the people. They showed how faith could thrive even without fancy buildings.
Today’s mega churches—with their large campuses, media studios, and wellness centers—are part of that same story. They offer new ways to gather and reach people, but they also raise questions. What happens when churches grow so big they lose touch with the neighborhood? What do we gain—and what do we risk—when sacred space becomes a stage?
Even now, the memory of those earlier spaces lives on. It’s in the folding chairs, the hand-painted signs, the way congregations work around zoning laws to turn everyday buildings into places of worship. These choices tell us something important: that sacred space isn’t just about design—it’s about purpose, presence, and people.
My research follows this journey. I use sketches, charts, and stories to show how church buildings have changed over time—and what those changes mean. I’m especially interested in how architecture holds memory, how walls “remember” the prayers, protests, and plans made inside them.
This Substack will be a space to share that work. I’ll post reflections, visuals, and updates from the field. I’ll write about church design, community organizing, and the ways faith shows up in everyday places. And I’ll keep asking: What do our buildings say about who we are? What do they remember that we’ve forgotten?
Let the walls speak.