Faith, Power, And The Black Middle Class: Johnnie Colemon's Legacy

Forbes

21-05-2025

Johnnie Colemon founder of Christ Universal Temple
Christ Universal Temple
As I reflect on shifts in Catholic spiritual life with leadership from Chicago, I'm reminded of the woman who introduced me to The Power of Positive Thinking: the Reverend Johnnie Colemon. During her life, her Christ Universal Temple was the largest church congregation in Chicago and the largest church in the world headed by a Black woman. The modern story of the Black church can't be told without her. Hers was a megachurch before that was a thing.
In a time when conversations about leadership and legacy are often dominated by corporate case studies and political figures, Colemon offers a model from an overlooked sector: faith leadership. She created real infrastructure, influenced public life, and shaped economic futures of her congregants as well as her community. She built an institution that gave thousands of Black families tools for upward mobility, personal growth, and ownership of their spiritual and financial destinies.
Colemon was the first preacher I ever saw, and for years, I didn't realize how unusual that was. I assumed all Black preachers (as opposed to Catholic priests) were tall Black women in glittering robes who quoted Marcus Aurelius and Langston Hughes from the pulpit. It wasn't until I visited other Black churches, places with hellfire sermons and no women up front, that I realized Johnnie Colemon had given me a radically different entry point to faith. She led thousands of Black Chicagoans not just to spiritual transformation, but into the middle class. Her message was rooted in what many now call the prosperity gospel, but what Colemon preached wasn't about wealth. It was about worth.
Colemon's gospel was radical: You are not broken. God is not mad at you. Your thoughts shape your life. You are worthy of abundance, not just in the afterlife, but now. She told her congregation every week: 'You are the thinker who thinks the thought that makes the thing.'
If you want to dive deeper into Rev. Johnnie Colemon's legacy—and what it meant to grow up under her influence—I've written a longer personal reflection on my Substack, Vanilla is Black. Read it here.
But Colemon didn't come to that message easily.
Born in 1920 in segregated Columbus, Mississippi, she grew up in a middle-class Black family. Her father ran a grocery store, and her mother was a teacher. Colemon herself earned a degree from Wiley College and became a teacher, first in Mississippi and later in Chicago.
In 1952, she was diagnosed with an illness doctors said was incurable. Refusing the prognosis, she sought healing at the Unity School of Christianity in Lee's Summit, Missouri, a center of the 'New Thought' movement, which taught spiritual oneness and the power of positive thinking. It was a departure from traditional fire-and-brimstone Black church teachings.
But Unity's practice didn't match its message. It was supposed to embrace modernity and new thinking, but racism, like Lazarus, always seemed to rise again. Colemon was barred from living on campus because she was Black. Every day, she commuted 15 miles from a segregated YWCA. One rainy day, after walking miles when her car broke down, and she broke down too. Her classmates rallied, and Unity eventually relented and gave her housing in a former groundskeeper's cottage. When I recently heard that story, it felt in keeping with the indignities my mother and godmother faced. That cottage moment wasn't just about racism. It was about what you will or won't accept. It's about having to choose between your dignity and access to opportunity. It shows in her life and work, Johnnie Colemon refused to compromise her dignity for access. I clearly remember her saying, "What's the point in having a seat at the table if you don't open your mouth?" This would become more evident as her career progressed.
"You are the master of your own fate. You are the captain of your soul. Get your thinking straight."
That moment shaped her. She vowed no one in her ministry would experience such exclusion. She graduated in 1956, one of the first Black Unity ministers, and returned to Chicago. What started as prayer meetings in her home eventually became Christ Universal Temple, a 100-acre campus with a 4,000-seat sanctuary.
The church was not just large, it was operationally complex. CUT had a school, youth programs, and a media ministry long before that was standard. At its height, the church employed dozens and held partnerships with civic and corporate groups across Chicago. It even had a restaurant turned banquet facility. The church offered financial literacy workshops, and personal development seminars. In many ways, Colemon functioned as both CEO and spiritual anchor. CUT wasn't just a spiritual headquarters, it was a cultural one. I saw Kathleen Battle, sing there accompanied by the full Chicago Symphony Orchestra. I watched Della Reese preach. The Barrett Sisters and Albertina Walker raised the roof more Sundays than I can count. Long before the Stellar Awards were televised, they were hosted right there on the South Side. It felt like Broadway and church and a family reunion all rolled into one.
Colemon's focus on consciousness and discipline aligned closely with values now associated with entrepreneurship and self-help. She wasn't alone; figures like Reverend Ike and Father Divine preached similar messages. Reverend Ike preached regularly from Colemon's pulpit. But Colemon wasn't about flash or fame. If Ike brought the spectacle, Colemon built the structure.
Her break with Unity came in 1974, after years of tension over race and cultural expression. Leaving Unity was not just a theological decision, it was a strategic move to create a Black-led movement where cultural expression and spiritual entrepreneurship were central. Colemon founded the Universal Foundation for Better Living, which expanded internationally. She created the Johnnie Colemon Institute and later a theological seminary to train ministers in her tradition.
Her impact was civic as well as spiritual: she backed Jane Byrne, and was a vocal supporter of Harold Washington, Chicago's first Black mayor (she hosted his funeral), and welcomed a young Barack Obama to her pulpit.
The prosperity gospel today is all private jets and platinum pastors with $1,200 sneakers. Colemon didn't promise us we'd be rich, she proclaimed that you were already worthy. That was the core of her ministry. Her framework feels strikingly modern today. It aligns with what many business thinkers now call a growth mindset. Colemon was telling Black Chicagoans, long before TED Talks or startup accelerators, that your internal narrative shapes your external reality. Meanwhile, Black female pastors received a boost when Bishop T.D. Jakes turned over his ministry to his daughter, Sarah Jakes Roberts.
Meanwhile, Colemon's gospel demanded no apologies for Black ambition. It did not promise riches, it promised dignity. That belief built a sanctuary, a seminary, and a new spiritual tradition. She always said, 'It works if you work it.'
And it still does.
If this story resonated with you, and you want more reflections that connect Black culture, economics, and spirituality, subscribe to my Substack, Vanilla is Black. That's where I go deeper. Join us here.