My destination matches the stately brick mansions on this stretch of Woodlawn Avenue. Tan brick archways, adorned with Christmas lights and wreaths, form open hallways on either side of the hall.

The walls rise to meet a series of large wooden beams, which run from left to right, and form the base of the hall’s A-frame ceiling. A traditional Christmas carol plays from the large organ pipes which hang over the front stage.

Inside, a handful of people are scattered across the padded dark wood benches of the main hall. A man greets me, and two older people in light blue robes smile gently at me, and wish me Happy New Year. A few minutes later, a young woman in a dark robe introduced herself and welcomed me into this space.

The event moves peacefully through a series of organ-backed hymns, poems read by the main speaker, and written meditations which were read aloud in unison by everyone in the hall. The eight-person, blue-robed choir provided musical interludes between the readings from the side of the front stage.

This is the perfect way to end this year-long journey that began 364 days earlier just a few blocks south of this hall. There was no pomp and circumstance. No excessive celebration. It was neither sad and solemn or angry and bitter.

It was calm. It was grounded. It was rooted in messages of love and peace, with tangible calls to action for all assembled. Reminders of what we can do, what we can control, and what we release to that which is greater than us.

The main speaker came to the front stage and delivered a short talk. She drew inspiration for her words this morning from a verse in the Bible which states:

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

The journey concludes in the Hyde Park neighborhood on the south side, at the corner of 56th Street and Woodlawn.

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47th Street has to be the most industrial side street in this city. To drive down this street is to pass through a living monument to the part of the city that manufactured and shipped food, equipment, and materials for the entire country.

My destination matches the architectural mood of the confident buildings on this boulevard. The front entrance has the look of an athletic fieldhouse. Its large stone base supports the swooping arched roof which frames the frosted glass windows of the structure’s front entrance.

An elderly lady in stiletto heels accidentally drops a bracelet. We exchange good morning greetings as I pick it up and hand it to her. Inside the lobby, two ushers are discussing whether a chair should be placed in front of the auditorium door entrance. I pass them and walk inside the auditorium. The building’s arched roof is even more impressive on the inside.

Small groups of people are scattered around the padded seats of this hall, waiting for the event to begin. Most of the people assembled so far are older, many of the women are wearing colorful Sunday hats, many of the men are in suits. An elderly gentleman in a two-piece suit greets me with an extended hand:

“Merry Christmas, Seasons Greetings, brother. Glad to see you. Happy New Year!”

The journey continues in the Bronzeville neighborhood on the south side, at the corner of 49th Street and King Drive.

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This morning, as I drive by the sleek glass windows of international schools, boutique clothing stores, upscale movie theaters, bike lanes, and restaurants I can’t help but flashback to a time when these blocks were anything but sunny, open, brightly-colored, and inviting.

I thought about the people and families who lived near this stretch of Halsted Street just one generation ago. I wondered if they could have ever known now valuable their neighborhood would become...once they left.

I cross North Avenue into the theater district, passed the Royal George and Steppenwolf. My destination - a large city high school - sit quietly, with a handful of cars parked in its parking lot.

Four stone Greek columns frame the facade of the building’s front entrance. Colorful banners touting the school’s academic programs hand on the outside of the two-story brick structure.

Inside, I pass by a dormant metal detector and I am greeted by a friendly lady who directs me down the hallway towards the auditorium. Tall gray lockers are offset by flags of countries around the world that are hanging close to the ceiling.

There were only a few people in this section of the auditorium at this point, a few sound and video guys were working on the projection screen. A young man greets me, and introduces himself. I wound up having extended conversations with multiple people during my visit.

The journey continues in the Lincoln Park neighborhood on the north side, at the corner of Armitage Avenue and Orchard.

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There was very light traffic as I passed McCormick Place onto South Lake Shore Drive. On the right side of the road, I noticed a newly-erected, simple square stone sculpture with the words "You Are Beautiful" engraved large enough for all passersby to read, even at 45-50 miles per hour.

As the lake gleamed in the sunlight to my left, I passed the Museum of Science and Industry, the Jackson Park marina, and the 63rd Street beach house. I continued on, down the stately brick three-story townhouses along Jeffrey Boulevard.

As I arrived at 79th Street, the streets were quiet, the shops were closed, many stores were boarded up, and many buildings looked like it had been a while since a store operated there.

A short walk from the lakefront, the polygon-shaped brick structure which was my destination emerged on my left. A handful of people were scattered around this deceptively spacious auditorium when I walked in. On stage, six singers were running through their final rehearsals and sound checks.

Midway through the event, the singers began a rendition of a song called “Total Praise” by Richard Smallwood. It is a song I have known for over 20 years, and it has been therapeutic for me at pivotal moments throughout my adult life.

So it was fitting that on this Sunday morning, one day after I attended a memorial service for a close friend, concluding a week of grieving and reflection, that I found myself tearing up as the singers sang the song’s chorus:

As the choir ran through the series of melodic Amens in the song’s bridge, I did not have it in me to lift my hands. I allowed tears to flow, and as the sun moved directly into the window over my head, I allowed myself to feel, and to heal.

A few minutes later, an upbeat jazz saxophone solo completed my move from sadness to joy, in remembrance of my friend.

The journey continues in the Chatham neighborhood on the south side, at the corner of 79th Street and Coles.

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A lot is happening on the streets surrounding my destination. A beautiful mural brightens up the exterior wall of a small warehouse as two men tend to a community garden. Next to the street, trolley train tracks end abruptly at the building I am about to enter.

A train car has been permanently parked in the parking lot. It looks like it could be a small breakfast-and-coffee spot, but I can’t tell. There’s an electric generator line running into it, so something cool is happening in there.

My destination is unique building, on a unique intersection, in a unique section of the city. It is a large four-story polygon structure, formed by a diagonal street, which makes the building appear larger. Its brick exterior is suddenly interrupted on one side by another building covered in black-and-white sketch illustrations.

I walk into the single door entrance, into a dimly lit loft like space. Murals and artistic illustrations line the exposed brick walls of the main staircase. A few neon signs shine patiently from the interior windows of a closed craft brewery bar.

For the first time in my journey, I almost got lost trying to get to the auditorium. However, there were people positioned at each landing of the main staircase to greet and guide visitors to the auditorium entrance.

“We’re huggers here.”

The young lady standing at the entrance of the auditorium told me as I approached. True to her word, I was greeted with a friendly hug and cheerful welcome. In fact, I was greeted by at least a dozen people as I waited in my seat for the event to begin.

I was reminded that making strangers feel welcome in an unfamiliar space is both an art and a science. It requires strategic forethought and planning, yet can only be executed by humans who chose to engage others in a life-affirming and respectful manner. When a group of people do it well, the effect is powerful. I was glad I found my way here this morning.

The journey continues in the Pilsen neighborhood on the near southwest side, at the corner of Cermak Road and Canalport.

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I drive down Garfield Blvd. into a part of the city which has come to acquire a reputation for being dark and dangerous. On this morning the streets are peaceful, and bright with sunlight. A viaduct stands over the street a few blocks in the distance, underneath a few CTA ‘L’ trains parked on the tracks above.

This is a space that looks like it holds many stories and many histories.
A short flight of stairs opens into the auditorium. The red carpet on the center aisle divides the two sections of padded dark wood benches and hardwood floors.

Sets of frosted stained glass windows - shaped like a baseball home plate - line the walls. Dark wood chairs, podiums, and tables form the front stage. A glance at the front of the brochure I received when I entered stated:

Founded 1887 - Present Edifice Erected - 1923

I thought about the people who constructed this building, and who formed the first community that assembled in this space on a regular basis. This city was a very different place 94 years ago. I wondered what they hoped for this space, and for the streets that surround it.

As the event began, a 10-person choir in white robes started to sing. They were mainly elderly folks, and although there were less than 20 people in the audience this morning, the choir members sang with enthusiasm, dedication, and joy.

About halfway through the event, time was set aside for audience members to pray. And then, nearly all of the now 40 people in the audience stood up and proceeded to the front stage; where they knelt side by side and began to pray silently, individually.

This was one of the most powerful demonstrations of solidarity and support I’ve seen all year. Each person, talking to God about their own concerns and challenges, pains and pressures...but doing so while kneeling alongside someone else who has come to talk to God about their own stuff.

The journey continues in the Englewood neighborhood on the south side, at the corner of 62nd Street and Throop.

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Although different industries run the city now, and different groups of people live in this neighborhood; as I approach my destination – which is across the street from a concrete mixing facility and the Chicago Tribune newspaper printing warehouse – I am reminded that old Chicago is still here…at least for now.

The first sign that I was in for a quality experience appeared in the middle of Chicago Avenue, in the crosswalk that led to my destination. There were two millennial-aged people serving as crossing guards, equipped with hand-held stop signs and pausing the traffic for the streams of people walking towards a building set back from the street.

I was warmly greeted by two more young people as I walked through the front door. The best way to describe my immediate impression is that it felt like I walked into a really dope underground silent party, film screening, or art show. This is a young and diverse crowd. The tables in the middle of the lobby remind me of the first week of college, where the campus is full of organizations promoting their work.

It is 9:30am on a cool November weekend morning, and there are 350-400 people packed into this intimate theater-like venue, and they are mostly younger. College students, 20 and 30-somethings…and they are very much present, engaged, and enthusiastic. This was an inclusive atmosphere with the cool aesthetic of an exclusive setting.

As the event began, the 12-person band on the stage began to perform a song with the chorus, “You Got Me.” As they sang, stage lights beamed concert like rays of light across the audience, and seven high-definition projection screens displayed the song lyrics overlaid on video clips of nature scenes and abstract light animations.

I looked around and thought about the capital and resources that must have gone into this space. It was so clearly and intentionally created for the audience assembled here. Faith communities are often portrayed in popular media as people operating in physical spaces created by earlier generations. Yet this space was clearly designed by and for this current generation.

The journey continues in River West, at the corner of Chicago Avenue and Green.

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This must be one of the most diverse blocks in the city. To my left, a renovated three-story brick apartment building housing a hair salon in its storefront. Next to it, a vacant lot is fenced off. Across the street, a small mom-and-pop Mexican restaurant sits next to a car repair shop, which sits next to a Walgreens.

My destination was on the other side of a vacant lot next to a hair salon. It is a nondescript two-story brick office building and blends in perfectly with the surroundings.

I’m running a few minutes late, so the sound of music was already coming from the auditorium as I walked through the fiberglass doors and up the stairwell to the second floor.

Later on, a speaker came to the podium on the front stage and gave a presentation about the good work this organization was doing in the surrounding neighborhoods through their food pantry.

The speaker noted that this partnership - between members of two different immigrant groups residing in Albany Park - was doing such a good job of providing “food for all” that the neighborhood’s alderman highlighted the work of the food pantry in the ward’s monthly newsletter.

As I joined the audience in applause, I felt a deep sense of pride. It wasn’t a sense of pride that came from accomplishment. I did not do any work related to this food pantry. I did not donate money or goods to this effort. I did not even know the pantry existed until five minutes ago.

My sense of pride did not come from a shared experience with the audience members assembled in this space. I did not know anyone here. I had not participated in the life of this community. I don’t even live on this side of town.

And yet, the strong sense of pride that welled up within me came from a sense that these were my people, a sense shared by many Americans when they are surrounded by a critical mass of people whose ethnic ancestry traces back to the same country or region as their own.

The journey continues in the Albany Park neighborhood on the north side, at the corner of Kedzie Avenue and Montrose.

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The rain begins to fall as I make my way north through the middle of the west side. Traveling through this section of the city can only be described as passing by block after block of what used to be.

As I turn on Madison Street, I passed a boarded-up, trash-filled, abandoned building; where campaign posters for a local politician hang ironically from a chain link fence.

Even this majestic building which is my destination used to be something else: a center of life for a community of Irish Catholic Chicagoans who have who have long since migrated away from the surrounding neighborhood of West Garfield Park.

Your first impulse when entering this hall is to look up towards the ceiling, and along the walls. Two sets of large stained glass windows depicting what I assume are scenes from the Bible rest in the walls closest to me. In the middle of the hall, a pair of beautiful circular stained glass windows face each other from opposite sides of the hall.

This is such a traditionally religious space, built from a very different culture, by people who sing very different songs...and yet, the people here this morning are moving freely and comfortably in this space. They seem to be at home here.

Later on, five minutes were set aside for audience members to greet each other. A man in a suit greeted me, introduced himself, and invited me to an upcoming Saturday brunch where the men of the community gather.

As I was about the return to my seat, I noticed that no one was in the rows of benches around me. In fact, no one was in any of the benches. The audience members had made their way to one of the three main aisles in the hall and began to stand side-by-side, holding the hands of the people next to them.

Once everyone was standing, a young woman went to the front stage and began to pray for the entire crowd. She said a lot, but one line in her prayer stayed with me:

“Even through all this, thank you.”

The journey continues in the Garfield Park neighborhood on the west side, at the corner of Washington Blvd. and Kildare.

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Crossing the Dan Ryan Expressway on 79th Street, I entered a section of the south side with wide side streets, brick bungalows and two-story homes with larger-than-average front lawns.

When I arrived at my destination, two well-dressed older gentlemen were standing by the building entrance, next to another elderly man who was in a wheelchair. The front lobby is warm and inviting. I walked through the wood double doors into the auditorium, which feels like someone connected three country cabins.

About halfway to the front, in a middle of one of the rows of padded benches, a lady was standing and praying in front of a small group of people. I took a seat and looked around. Most people in the audience were older, and it was obvious that they know each other and are comfortable with each other.

I was greeted and welcomed by three people as others entered and took their seats. A bright blue neon light lit up a stained-glass cross at the top of the wall behind the front stage. Along the sides of the auditorium, brushed and frosted glass windows filtered the incoming sunlight through an array of blues, greens, and tans.

Four singers joined an eight-person band and led the audience in song as the event began. A few minutes later, in what was a first during this journey, a speaker came to the podium on the front stage and asked all the visitors to stand.

So I stood, along with a handful of people scattered throughout the auditorium. The speaker welcomed us and thanked us for coming. She even offered to pray with us afterward. It is a unique experience to be welcomed so personally.

The journey continues in the Chatham neighborhood on the south side, at the corner of 79th and Wabash.

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