A Place of Worship

Like all buildings, the building at 133 Adams St., was built for a purpose.

The west-side structure wasn’t a grand soaring Gothic edifice like other churches in Chicago. Rather, it was a simple structure built with minimal resources under the direction of a simple man and his wife: Daan and Linnea De Leeuw. They wanted a blue-collar Bible church for their growing family and the growing community.

The church was built according to the De Leeuw’s plans and the money God provided. Once the corner lot with an existing house was purchased and a permit issued, church members raised the structure as they could only afford to pay the building contractor.

Around a cornerstone with the inscription “1952+”, a concrete block building was erected with a pitched roof and no steeple. Three white stone crosses were set in relief on the brick face of the building. A parking lot was created. The old house on the corner became the parsonage.

The interior of the sanctuary was no nonsense. The concrete block side walls were painted-beige. Three windows with amber bubble glass lined each side wall. Forest green curtains bordered the windows. The walls around the windows were bare except for a small wooden rack near the organ. It held the numbers of the previous service and Sunday school attendance and the offering amount.

Front and center on the platform stood a large wing pulpit. Three large minister chairs were behind it along the choir loft. A piano and an organ flanked the platform. On the back wall above the choir loft was a plaque which read “God is in His Holy Temple. Let All the Earth Keep Silent. Hab. 2:20.”  

To the right of the platform and behind a large rectangular hole in the wall was the baptistry. A landscape was painted on the walls surrounding the water tank.

On the main floor in front of the pulpit was the oak communion table. “This Do In Remembrance of Me” was carved on the front. The table held the offering plates and a flower arrangement – the only element of beauty in the building.

Opposite the platform, sixteen rows of chairs back, was the entrance to the sanctuary. A clock was hung centered above the double door entrance to let the minister know when to end the service.

When the church was dedicated, Daan became its pastor. Thirty families joined the church. Over time there were altars calls, baptisms, weddings, and banquets. Weekly children’s programs were developed. The church membership grew. Two hundred more voices were added to the congregational government.

At one point it was decided that the church could take on more debt and expand. A large wing, at a right angle to the sanctuary, was added. The addition included a gym and kitchen upstairs and classrooms downstairs.

With a growth in membership came an increase in disagreements. Disputes arose about what Biblical texts meant, about how things should be handled, about who should or shouldn’t be a member, and about finances. Church business meetings became so rancorous that Daan and Linnea decided to leave the church, move far away, and abandon the building and its original purpose. With the De Leeuw’s departure, a pastoral search committee was formed to find a replacement.

The search would repeat itself over and over every few years as there was always dissatisfaction and disappointment with each person they brought in. Interim pastors would fill the pulpit more often than a full-time minister. Families, frustrated with the lack of cohesion, stopped coming.

Many began attending other local churches and some moved away. Membership dropped down to just a few of the original builders and attendees. As such, the church was no longer financially sustainable. The building and property were sold to a Jehovah’s Witness congregation which turned it into a Kingdom Hall.

A few years later the JWs sold the church when they moved across town to another building. The new owner was a restaurateur.

After rezoning to change the corner property to commercial use, he converted the gym into a banquet hall. There was a large kitchen adjacent to it. The sanctuary was converted into an entertainment venue. The classrooms became multipurpose rooms. One large room was made into a salon with hairstylists, nail specialists and an electrologist. A Yoga studio was set up in another and the other rooms became storage and stock rooms.

A large sign that said Transitions Banquet Hall & Entertainment Venue was installed in front of the three raised crosses. Garish lighting illuminated the sign and the outside walls. Neighbors were none too pleased about the lights, the traffic and the noise so close to their homes. They had lived by a non-disruptive house of worship and now a disturbing spectacle had taken its place.

Wedding receptions were held in the banquet hall. The room could accommodate two-hundred guests, a DJ and a dance floor. Strobe lights and a disco ball light hung from the ceiling.

In the sanctuary, singers, comedians, and magicians performed. Drinks were served. The concrete block walls, painted red, were covered with photographs of past and present entertainers. Sound speakers hung in the corners of the room.

The banquet hall and entertainment venue operated successfully for seven years, but there was something about it that was always at odds with the neighbor’s conventionalism. Concerned also about the area’s decline, its noise, rising crime, and rising property taxes, and wanting a better quality of life, homeowners fled the area. Boarded up properties, trash, and overgrown weeds began to appear.

It was only a matter of time before Transitions’ customer base eroded away. Wedding bookings dropped off and entertainment acts no longer booked. With the loss of customers and income, the building’s upkeep went into disrepair and service quality dropped off. The owner decided to start up again somewhere else. So, he put the property up for sale. But no offers were forthcoming.

Over a decade the abandoned buildings became covered with graffiti. The cornerstone and crosses, too. The onetime place of worship became an eyesore condemned by the community. At city board meetings neighbors voiced concerns about what was going on in the building and in the former parsonage. People were coming and going day and night. Was the building, once a symbol of hope for those who met there, now a heroin den?

The onetime house of worship would be fondly remembered through pictures on Facebook and good times associated with it. But the deserted and decaying house of worship now stands as a remembrance of the disputes which brought about its demise and abandonment of purpose.

Would a developer come along and renovate and repurpose the existing buildings? Would the developer know the building’s original purpose? Would he, instead, tear it down and build new? Would he keep the cornerstone or discard it for a new milestone?

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The Angelus – Jean-Francois Millet 1857-1859

Millet: “The idea for The Angelus came to me because I remembered that my grandmother, hearing the church bell ringing while we were working in the fields, always made us stop work to say the Angelus prayer for the poor departed.

An X-ray of the painting on request of Dali who was impressed greatly by the contrast between the idyllic background and tragic poses of the peasants. It appeared that originally instead of the basket of potatoes Millet had depicted a baby coffin. Thus the couple was burying their child.

The Angelus (painting) – Wikipedia