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Yahoo
21-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Get to know key leaders at some of East Austin's historically minority churches
Amid the rapid gentrification of central East Austin, historically Black and Hispanic churches have proven to be some of the most resilient cultural institutions. Three century-old churches clustered off East 10th Street — two predominantly Black and another largely Hispanic — have hung on tight as the neighborhood around them continues to transform. But their congregations are shrinking as members age and increasingly depart for the suburbs. Now they are confronted with the question of how to survive as commuter parishes that have trouble appealing to their new neighbors who trend younger and whiter — and who are less likely to attend church. Most of the churches have already been displaced once, in the early 20th century when segregationist policies pushed non-white Austinites and institutions east of Interstate 35 from downtown. They've been there ever since, their leaders and longtime members determined to stick around. Here are some of their stories: Read first: In gentrified East Austin, these three historically minority churches are at a crossroads Ardtria Griffin grew up in the days of strict tradition. On Sundays in the late 1960s, the pastor, ministers, and choir of Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church would march down the center aisle of the church to start the service. All would break into a hymn, seemingly always the same one: 'Holy Holy Hooooly, Lord God Almighty…' 'I used to think the AMEs were sanctified or snobbish. We didn't clap. We didn't stomp our feet,' said the 64-year-old, in reference to two common African American church practices. 'Now we're letting our hair down.' These days, she reflects more on the dedication to faith and community that she saw in her parents and those before her. As a girl, she watched her father walk past East 11th Street's 'pimps and prostitutes' to invite homeless individuals to service. She remembers her mother organizing meals for hundreds in the church's basement on Thanksgiving. Her faith and loyalty to her church, she said, are in large part the effect of her parents. 'We had committed, dedicated members,' Griffin said. Now, it's her job to be that: 'bringing in the younger generation and training them up.' It's a role Griffin is trying to take on, picking up family members to bring them to Sunday service, and greeting oldcomers and newcomers alike as the lead usher. When it's someone's time to stop by the church, she'll be there to support them, 'In any way. In any way that I possibly can.' Mario Rentería awakes every morning at 5 a.m. and walks out to his backyard in East Austin, where he meditates and prays in front of a simple brick grotto of the Virgin Mary adorned by flowers. Behind him, through an alleyway, the wooden steeple of Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church gazes down at him as it has for most of his life. The son of Mexican immigrants who married at the church, Rentería became an altar boy for the 6:30 a.m. mass at age 6. Now 73, he serves as a deacon, visiting the sick, assisting with paperwork and running an occasional mass. 'It was ingrained in us by my parents, by my community. As I grew up around here, I realized that that was the center of community life,' Rentería said. 'It still is the center of my being.' Rentería was born in a now-demolished one-room house across the street from the church and grew up two blocks away in a stone house that was rumored to have been a mortuary for Confederate veterans interred at the nearby Texas State Cemetery. As a boy, Rentería and his siblings spent hours fighting the soldiers' ghosts. On hot summer days, they ran behind the insecticide truck, inhaling its fumes and the dust stirred up from the then-unpaved roads. He moved back to the neighborhood three years ago, thanks to the help of a nonprofit developer. Nowadays, Rentería can walk down the street to check on old friends and fellow parishioners, like the Guajardo brothers, ages 71 and 74. Sometimes, as he walks through the transformed streets, he finds himself saddened by the disappearance of kids and families from the neighborhood. 'It's kind of weird that we're still here,' he said. But mostly, Rentería is happy that he can be near the church, repaying his labor to the institution that has kept him grounded in his faith, helping him make sense of family, change and mortality. It's what seems most logical, he said: 'To continue my service to the community, and more important, my service to God in any way I could.' In her defense of generations-old hymns and 'biblically sound sermons,' Ebenezer Third Baptist associate minister Janice Bryant mirrors her church's admiration for the depths of tradition. But Bryant also reflects Ebenezer's commitment to change. In 2003, nearly four decades after joining the church at the age of 26, she became ordained as a minister, a rarity in the Baptist tradition where church leaders are almost exclusively men. Now 75, Bryant said the accomplishment speaks to the forward-looking nature of the church's storied former pastor Marvin C. Griffin and of the congregation. It also speaks to her determination. Eight years later, she completed her doctorate in ministry. An educator by profession, Bryant took to helping, then leading, Bible studies at Ebenezer from her first years with the church. 'There's never been a time in my life at Ebenezer, except for maybe the first years, that I've actually not taught,' Bryant said. Learning one's faith should be transformational, Bryant said. It's what she tries to teach. It's what she tries to hold herself to. 'People think church is just a hobby, that it's just a game,' Bryant said. Or they see 'religion as something extremely stifling.' 'They say 'Peace on earth, goodwill towards men,'' Bryant said. So it's important 'that you actually have goodwill towards people … that you believe that you are responsible in some way, by your attitudes and feelings, to care — and not just know — about the things going on.' Such, she said, is what one's faith should do. This article originally appeared on Austin American-Statesman: Get to know key leaders at East Austin's Black and Hispanic churches
Yahoo
21-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
In gentrified East Austin, these three historically minority churches are at a crossroads
On Sundays, Manor resident Ardtria Griffin wakes before dawn to pray, put on her black or red usher's uniform and make the long drive to her church in central East Austin. In recent months, she has made detours through North Austin, picking up grandchildren, nieces, nephews or daughters-in-law to ensure they make it to worship service. Griffin, 64, is one of many Austin-area residents who commute to the central east side of town each week to attend services at one of the neighborhood's numerous Black and Latino churches. For Griffin and hundreds of others, this trip concludes at one of three century-old churches clustered around a two-block portion of East 10th Street: the historically Black Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church and Ebenezer Third Baptist Church, and the historically Mexican Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church. Griffin, a lifelong member of Metropolitan AME, said returning to her house of worship is like 'leaving one home and going to another home.' 'I never complain about the destination and how far it is,' said Griffin, who grew up in a nearby neighborhood off Airport Boulevard. 'I see it as going to be with more family members and loved ones.' In recent decades, the area has changed dramatically as residents like Griffin have been priced out or sold their homes to cash in on sizable equity from escalating property values. Many Black- and Latino-owned restaurants, music venues and social clubs have closed over the years. But lots of churches, bolstered by tax exemptions and a stubborn belief in tradition, have hung on and remain beacons of custom, gathering and expression. But while these houses of worship have retained loyal members like Griffin, they all are facing a multifaceted existential threat: Their aging congregations are shrinking with the deaths of longtime members, and many members have left for other churches that may be closer to where they now live. All three saw drastic reductions in attendance during the pandemic. At the same time, church leaders have faced the challenge of appealing to their new neighbors, who tend to be younger, which statistically makes them far less likely to identify with a religion and attend church services. They're also whiter and might feel like they don't belong in spaces that are overwhelmingly Black and Latino – though priests and reverends say all are welcome. Keen on preserving their legacies and serving their spiritual missions, leaders and members at each church have different ideas about how to survive. Their neighborhood has transformed — perhaps, so too, will they. Now 71, Elma Crawford, can recall the conversations she had with her husband after she moved to his native Austin more than 30 years ago. 'I kind of wanted to experiment with churches,'' Crawford said. 'And he said, 'No, I want (my son) to grow up where I grew up.' So that's what they did, immersing their son in Ebenezer Baptist's strong sense of identity. Over its 150-year history, the church has played a pivotal role in civil rights — including by integrating the Southern Baptist Conference — and has fostered Gospel talents like composer Virgie Carrington DeWitty. Planted at the edge of East 10th in an austere Gothic Revival temple, many of Ebenezer's traditions continue today — from its celebration of Liberation Day, a February celebration of emancipation in which its congregants wear dashikis and other African garb, to its reunions over its eponymous sugary-sweet red punch. Though tradition may be ample, youth is scarce at Ebenezer. The church has seen 90 to 140 attendees at Sunday services since the beginning of the year, according to interim Pastor Nathan Robertson Jr., but on three of those Sundays the American-Statesman counted only about half a dozen children. On a recent Sunday, 9-year-old Basil Patterson crouched against a back pew with his friend, 7-year-old Griffin West, and worked on crossword puzzles about the Last Supper. When the two finished, they made the sheets into paper planes and held them above their heads as they navigated the crowd during the portion of the service where congregants are supposed to greet each other, dodging hugs from elderly women. Kanika Pendergrass, Patterson's mother, joined the church as a member four years ago, after attending periodically for almost a decade. At Ebenezer, she felt accepted as a single mother and believed her son would learn the moral teachings of their faith and a sense of belonging in the city's Black history. As a transplant from North Carolina, the social network is invaluable, Pendergrass said: 'We can come here, and we can be treated like' family. According to the Pew Research Center, which closely tracks religious activity and beliefs in the U.S., young people are far less likely to attend religious services, identify as Christian and pray daily. In February, the center published the results of a sweeping survey that showed 49% of Americans aged 74 years and older attended religious services at least monthly compared with 25% of 18- to 24-year-olds. Amid that shift, congregations across the nation are aging. According to Duke University's most recent National Congregations Study, the average percentage of worshippers over age 60 increased to 42% from 29% between 1998 and 2018. Ebenezer congregants will admit theirs is a particularly silver-haired congregation. Many members, like elderly churchgoers elsewhere, commonly suggest drops in church attendance are due to a dissolution in family expectations. But there are also more quotidian reasons, like the competing demands of sports commitments, said Tamara West, a member of the choir and the mother of Griffin West and two of the other boys. Still, West said she thinks it's important that Ebenezer focus on rebuilding its youth programs that have seen lackluster attendance in recent years, particularly since the pandemic. It's not only important for the children's spiritual growth, she said, but also so they feel rooted in the church and continue attending after the older generation is gone. 'They're the ones we're keeping this for,' she said. Elma Crawford's 36-year-old son Morrel, recently returned home from Atlanta, found a church in North Carolina that he attended virtually while away from home. Now he wants to see Ebenezer expand its online presence beyond its YouTube livestream. This, he believes, could strengthen engagement with the church and possibly bring new members willing to attend in person. 'Besides God himself, most traditions can be expanded,' he said. One block up East 10th at Metropolitan AME, the Rev. N. Jordan Mkwanazi is set on appealing to the church's new neighbors. It's a key tactic for what Mkwanazi called the church's pivotal 'Year of Growth' at a recent annual planning meeting and in his recent sermons at the historically Black church. But he acknowledged that recruiting new members from the surrounding neighborhood might be a challenge, saying it doesn't help to have 'African' in the church's name — African Methodist Episcopal. Church segregation is a well-documented fact of American life. Even today, 3 in 4 American churchgoers attend congregations where more than 80% of the congregants are from one racial or ethnic group, according to the Duke University congregations study. Academics, like Anna Holleman of Appalachian State University, attribute this segregation in part to homophily, the practice of spending voluntary time most with those alike oneself. In the United States, similarity is often perceived along lines of race, she said. Cognizant of this reality, Mkwanazi still maintains a pastoral confidence when it comes to the possibility of redefining his church's membership. 'I'm absolutely positive that if any of our neighbors come to our church, they'll stay, so this year, our intent is to go out there and invite them to come watch,' Mkwanazi said in an interview in January. 'There's a new population and new needs. A growing church is a church that meets needs.' As of March, the church hadn't hosted any events aimed at drawing in new members, though some congregants have worked to bring friends and family back to services. Griffin, responded to the reverend's call by inviting family — many of whom were former members who stopped coming in the past decade. The 64-year-old, who is the church's lead usher, thinks the church should focus first on the members it has lost by finding out 'why we lost them and why' and re-earning trust. For this to be successful, Griffin said the church's congregants, most of whom are elderly, will have to be zealous in their acceptance of returners. Quips about young people's dress, habits or lifestyles 'run people away.' 'We got to meet them where they are,' Griffin said. 'I understand that the older generation are set in their ways, but there has to come a point in time (when) we have to shift; we have to change, because times have changed.' Unlike the two Black churches down the block, Our Lady of Guadalupe still has a handful of parishioners who walk to Mass. Some are longtime homeowners and others are native East Austinites who have returned to the neighborhood thanks to the efforts of a nonprofit developer to maintain affordable housing. It also has a major reason for hope: The region's large and continuously growing Latin American immigrant community hail from largely Catholic countries. Church Deacon Mario Rentería, 73, and other church members say this population has served as a sustaining force for generations. Established by the Catholic Church almost 120 years ago to serve the Mexican community, Our Lady of Guadalupe has come to serve a mix of English-speaking Mexican Americans and Spanish-speaking recent Latino immigrants. It has long attracted new immigrants in part because it bears the name of Mexico and Latin America's patron saint, the Virgin Mary as she appeared to a peasant in the 16th century outside Mexico City. There are still two English-language and two Spanish-language Sunday Masses, as well as daily Masses. Still, Father Pedro Castillo, the church's somber priest, is known to complain about his parish's lackluster attendance. He estimates that 700 people attend Mass each weekend, a modest figure when compared with the 3,200 families registered on the parish rolls. In his three decades at the church, Ramón Gómez, 54, a member of the lay leadership committee, said he has seen the parish's Spanish-speaking community become proportionately larger, its numbers keeping steady while the English-speaking population's declines. Today, the Spanish-speaking community has a larger number of ministries and tends to make up larger shares of church events. This can, at times, produce grievances about events being held mostly in Spanish, said Gómez, who attends Mass in English. 'But the immigrant community is coming to the events, and the priest is going to cater the event to those who come,' he added. Every week during their drive into the city from Round Rock, Lydia Rodríguez and her husband, Sergio, pass massive, flourishing Catholic churches. But the couple has remained committed to Our Lady of Guadalupe, where they have attended Spanish-language Mass for 21 years. What keeps them returning, Lydia Rodríguez, 52, told the Statesman in Spanish over a Lenten fish fry lunch, is a dedication to the parish that strengthened their faith from 'Catholics by name, but not practitioners' to ministerial leaders who volunteer at the church during Mass and other days throughout the week. So too, is a desire to serve where there is the most need. They are keenly aware the church is navigating a transition into a commuter parish and that it has lost Spanish-speaking members to other nearby Catholic churches, Sergio Rodríguez, 48, said. Our Lady of Guadalupe's two Spanish-language Sunday Masses are less than the three at St. Julia and the six at Cristo Rey, the two other historically Mexican Catholic churches in East Austin. 'We grow tired; we become disillusioned,' Sergio Rodriguez said of the effort it takes to remain involved. 'All this crosses our mind. But, in the end, you get the feeling of 'No, let's keep at this.'' The dedication of members, old and new, will determine the future of the three churches off East 10th. Though a strong pull at Ebenezer comes from tradition, the church's associate minister, the Rev. Janice Bryant, is responsive to calls for continuous changes in technology. But she also maintains that Ebenezer will always be defined in part by the 'richness' and 'depth' that come from the tradition. Not all churches should try to look the same, she said. 'There always has to be a church like ours; there has to be a church like (Guadalupe), a church like Metropolitan, so that people who are looking for what they need can find it,' Bryant said. From where exactly, remains to be seen. Some of East Austin's largest Black churches have completed (Greater Mount Zion) or announced plans (St. David Chapel) to move, often to the city's northeastern peripheries, where the region's Black population has commonly settled since the gentrification of central East Austin neighborhoods. If Metropolitan's numbers don't improve, the congregation will have to seriously consider likewise, Mkwanazi said. The pastor is already trying his hand at the new proselytization frontier. Last year, Mkwanazi started a church in a warehouse in the quickly growing suburb of Hutto. These days, after Metropolitan services, he rushes to attend to a handful of members who worship in a less traditional style, with shorter services and a newer music style. The ultimate decision of a move for Metropolitan will be up to a congregation vote. For now, Griffin remains unconvinced a move is the best solution. But 'I don't see the future,' Griffin said. 'What I see and what the next generation sees might be different.' Nor is she interested in finding a more convenient Sunday commute. Another AME church formerly located off Springdale Road has begun construction on a campus 'walking distance' from Griffin's Manor home, but she has no plans to join. For now, Griffin said she will focus on contributing to a welcoming environment at Metropolitan, greeting potential new members who walk through the doors with a smile and an introduction. That, she said, can have a major impact 'even before the song is sung, even before the word is preached.' 'You say, 'Welcome to Metropolitan. Thank you for being here.'' This article originally appeared on Austin American-Statesman: In gentrified East Austin, Black and Latino churches are at crossroads
Yahoo
19-02-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
Black faith leaders call for Target boycott over DEI rollback
A group of Black faith leaders have announced a Lent-inspired boycott of retail giant Target over the company's rollback of diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) policies. Speaking from the historically Black Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church in Washington, D.C., Bishop Reginald T. Jackson said Monday that the Black church would 'become the leader of our people.' 'If corporate America can't stand with us, we're not going to stand with corporate America,' Jackson said. Target announced in a January memo that it would end its three-year DEI goals, as well as its Racial Equity Action and Change (REACH) initiatives. The company had already planned to end the REACH initiatives this year. The rollbacks meant the company would end its program that focused on carrying more products from Black- and minority-owned businesses and no longer participate in national diversity surveys, including the Human Rights Campaign's Corporate Equality Index, which measures corporate policies, practices and benefits as they apply to LGBTQ employees. On Monday, Jackson teamed up with Barbara Williams-Skinner, civil rights lawyer Sherrilyn Ifill, and the Rev. William Lamar, pastor of Metropolitan AME Church, to announce the boycott. Skinner issued a dire warning to those gathered at the church. 'We're here today because what we're seeing for 30 days is a foretaste of four years,' Skinner said. 'This is already telling us that if we don't stop it at 30 days, we won't have a country. We won't have a democracy.' Since taking the oath of office, President Trump has aggressively targeted DEI policies in both the federal government and corporate America. Just days after his inauguration, Trump signed an executive order directing federal agencies to end 'illegal preferences and discrimination' in government and help find ways to 'encourage the private sector to end illegal discrimination and preferences, including DEI.' In addition to Target, companies including McDonald's, Walmart, Amazon and Tractor Supply have all ended or rolled back their DEI pledges, many of which were made in the wake of social unrest in 2020. Black faith leaders and civil rights organizations around the country have since called for 'buycotts' of these companies. The NAACP this week released its Black Consumer Advisory, a project that lists companies that have recommitted to DEI in recent weeks while also highlighting major corporations that have dismantled their programs. Earlier this month, Atlanta Pastor Jamal Bryant also called for a 40-day 'fast' of Target. Target declined The Hill's request for comment. On Martin Luther King Jr., Day, which coincided with inauguration day this year, Rev. Al Sharpton announced a boycott of companies that have rolled back DEI, along with a 90-day study of what companies have given up on DEI and what their margins of profit are. Jackson on Monday said he hopes the boycott will expand outside the Black community. 'I really hope that as we go forward…not only Blacks, but all those who are supportive of justice, will also join us in this effort to seek to redeem all that's going on,' Jackson said. ''I want you to do what's right.' That's what we have to be able to say to corporate America.' —Updated at 11:23 a.m. Eastern Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
09-02-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
DC church vandalized by the Proud Boys gains control over the group's trademark
The Brief D.C. Superior Court grants rights to the trademark of the group's name to the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church The ruling also bars the Proud Boys members from selling any merchandise with its name or symbols without the church's consent. WASHINGTON, D.C. - A judge recently awarded a historic Black church in Washington, D.C. control over the Proud Boys trademark after the far-right group defaulted on a $2.8 million judgment. The Monday ruling in D.C. Superior Court grants rights to the trademark of the group's name to the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church and bars the Proud Boys members from selling any merchandise with its name or symbols without the church's consent. The ruling also allows the church to try to seize any money made from selling the group's merchandise. The church filed the lawsuit to try to recoup damages from vandalism made by group members after a December 2020 pro-Donald Trump rally. Black Lives Matter banners were torn down and burned at two churches, including Metropolitan African Methodist. There were also violent clashes between opposing protesters and arrests were made that night. Enrique Tarrio, then the leader of the Proud Boys, confessed to participating in the burnings and was later sentenced to more than five months in jail on those and other charges. Tarrio was later sentenced to 22 years in federal prison for orchestrating the Jan. 6, 2021, riot. On his first day in office, President Donald Trump granted pardons, commutations or vowed to dismiss cases against the 1,500-plus people charged with crimes in the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol— including Tarrio. In a lengthy statement posted to X, Tarrio wrote, "The presiding judge has denied due process to myself and the other defendants, preventing us from presenting a proper defense." Tarrio also suggested in separate posts that the Proud Boys rename themselves, "African Methodist Episcopal Boys" and asked for suggestions on a new name. Case records show the lawsuit was served to Tarrio at the federal prison where he was housed when it was filed, as well as to at least one other address associated with him and another member. The church lawsuit called the actions on Dec. 12, 2020 "acts of terror" and said they were meant to intimidate the members of the church. A default judgement was awarded to the church in June 2023. After no payments were made and no responses were filed by the Proud Boys or their representatives, lawyers for the church filed a motion in December seeking rights to the trademark. An attorney representing the church in the civil action did not respond to a request for comment. Nayib Hassan, Tarrio's attorney, declined to comment. The Source Information from the Associated Press contributed to this report.
Yahoo
04-02-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
DC judge gives control of Proud Boys' trademark to Black church attacked by far-right group
The Proud Boys lost control of their trademarked name on Monday after a judge in Washington, DC, ruled that it be handed over to a Black church that was attacked by members of the far-right group four years ago. The decision from Judge Tanya M. Jones Bosier is meant to fulfill a $2.8 million default judgment entered against the Proud Boys by a different judge in DC in 2023 to get back damages incurred by the church during the December 2020 attack. The two-page ruling says that all the group's interests in the 'Proud Boys' trademark will be transferred to the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church and that the organization and people associated with it must first get consent from the DC church to use the mark or sell any merchandise containing it. It also means that any money the group makes from using the trademark must be paid to the church to help satisfy the multi-million-dollar default judgment. 'The Church has a long history of standing up for justice and against all forms of hate,' the church's leader, Rev. William H. Lamar IV, told CNN. 'We are determined to hold the Proud Boys accountable and we will continue this fight.' Enrique Tarrio, the group's former chairman, said in a lengthy statement posted to X that the church 'must be subjected to a thorough audit, and its non-profit status revoked immediately.' 'This church has engaged in a campaign of harassment and falsehoods, evidenced by their every filed motion,' he wrote. Tarrio had been serving a 22-year prison sentence for seditious conspiracy but was pardoned last month by President Trump as part of a sweeping grant of clemency that included pardons for scores of participants in the January 6, 2021, US Capitol attack and commutations for other members of the Proud Boys. The December 2020 attack on the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church was described by a separate DC judge in 2023 as 'highly orchestrated' and featuring 'hateful and overtly racist conduct' from members of the Proud Boys. The order from Judge Neal E. Kravitz said several people in Proud Boys regalia 'leaped over Metropolitan AME's fence, entered the church's property, and went directly to the Black Lives Matter sign. They then broke the zip ties that held the sign in place, tore down the sign, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it while loudly celebrating. Many others then jumped over the fence onto the church's property and joined in the celebration of the sign's destruction.'
