Storefront Churches: Faith-based architecture springs eternal

It was a sign that helped convince a Baltimore pastor to convert the vacant car dealership into her new church. Not necessarily a sign from heaven, but a sign — literally. The large vertical marquee had exactly five letters. “HONDA” would be easy to replace with “JESUS.”

Camilo José Vergara shares that story about a photograph in “Storefront Churches.” The new National Building Museum exhibition showcases the urban documentarian’s intriguing shots of sanctuaries shoehorned in city blocks.

A sociologist by education and instinct, Vergara has been photographing and writing about inner cities from Compton, Calif. to Camden, N.J., for four decades. Named a MacArthur Fellow in 2002, his books include “How the Other Half Worships.”

Vergara keeps church interviews brief because his sources have other goals. Like what? He smiles: “To save your soul or get money from you.”

It’s easy to find First Baptist Church of Hammond, Ind., but hard to tell it’s a house of worship. The photograph shows a building overwhelmed by a huge red “WERTH’S APPLIANCE CENTER” sign surrounded by a patchwork of smaller signs. One reads “Where your dollar is ‘Werth’ more.”

Vergara points to an image of a Detroit seminary statue. After the 1967 riots, someone painted the robed Christ’s face, hands and feet black. Reacting instead of reflecting, officials had the features repainted white. Later, in a gesture of respect to neighborhood citizens, Christ’s skin was repainted black.

For a dose of fire and brimstone, read the Los Angeles mission sign about “Devil’s Juice.” Among its many warnings: those engaged in “revellings” shall not inherit the earth.

Vergara returned several times to one Chicago site to document the morphing of a movie theater to a church to yet another church, as adjacent buildings fell victim to decay and the wrecking ball.

In Detroit, the St. Francis D’Assisi Church has held its ground since 1903; the splendid piece of architecture looms in desolation above industrial rubble.

Going from the sublime to ridiculous is an inflatable church Vergara spotted in Gary, Ind. He explains that evangelicals transport the porta-chapels city to city.

Another take on impermanence features a ring of colored stacking chairs facing a tall wooden cross in a park, where homeless people gather to pray. Humble as it is, the makeshift sanctuary rivals its blowup counterpart in spirit. Vergara’s lens reveals that when a community sows faith, a church can sprout anywhere.