Op-Ed & Artist Statement

I spent a few days this past month wandering through Manhattan with my camera, looking for the faintest trace of faith etched into the city’s concrete. Each photo in this series, from grand cathedrals to street shrines and statues, became a prompt for reflection on religion’s living legacy in New York. This piece will explore how these images speak to Christian nationalism, institutional faith, and the enduring spiritual currents in daily life. The photographs and sites unfolded along three intertwined themes, Civic Religion and State Theology, Liberation, Counter-Narratives & Service, and Everyday Sacred Leftovers. Along the way, I drew on four key sources: Chen’s study of Silicon Valley spirituality, Cone’s black liberation theology, Lofton’s analysis of religion in consumer culture, and Casanova’s work on secularism to help interpret what I saw. These texts remind us that even in the most secular-seeming spaces, faith persists, growing and shaping the identity of the place, calling for justice, and adapting to the culture.

Walking the streets of Manhattan, I became aware of an almost invisible civic faith. American public life, as Casanova observes, differs sharply from Europe’s: being “modern” here strangely goes hand in hand with being “religious.” Many Americans see faith as part of their national identity, even if the government claims neutrality. In practice, symbols of God appear everywhere: crosses on monuments, Bible verses in courthouses, the pledge “under God” uttered at ceremonies and within the walls of our judicial system. One photo I took shows Trinity Church with its spire piercing the skyline of Wall Street. The church sits at the end of a street lined with Wall Street buildings and Corporate America’s flag. As the church’s shadow fell across the surrounding glass and marble towers, the powerfully civic image I saw struck me as impressive. A colonial-era church is literally casting its shadow over modern finance. It was a relic of what Robert Bellah described as American civil religion; as a medieval stone site that is standing in the heart of capitalism, reminding the city that “In God We Trust” still lives on our money and monuments, even if that presence is mostly ceremonial.

This blending of church and state is no accident. Casanova shows that the United States adopted a unique form of secularism: a “friendly separation” with no official church, but vigorous protection of free exercise. In other words, the First Amendment’s mix of “no establishment” and “free exercise” means the state may not pick a national religion. Still, it also does not pretend religion is irrelevant. Wherever you look, the flags, anthems, or inaugurations, our national life is submerged and covered in holy language. At one site, I photographed the midday procession of tourists past the marble steps of St. Paul’s Chapel near Ground Zero. The chapel is the oldest building in Manhattan, and after 9/11, it became a shelter and a place of hope for many rescue workers of every belief. Here, patriotism and religion fused in one place, where religious leaders in their own respective faiths all came together as one. One of the chapels near here, scarred by smoke but still standing, offers us a great example of civic religion in action, where one of New York’s great tragedies is mourned in a sacred space, even with supposedly secular government officials all around. As Casanova reminds us, modern America runs on the traditional belief that a moral nation must also be a religious one. The memorials, monuments, and spiritual signs I captured, set against skyscrapers, show this idea exactly.

This paradox of secular governance with a religious spirit is not unique to American government and politics, but it also shows up in the private sector. Here we can look at Carolyn Chen’s insight in her piece, Work Pray Code: When Work Becomes Religion in Silicon Valley. She explains how corporate America (not the state) has co-opted spirituality to keep people working. By bringing yoga classes, chapels, and mindfulness seminars into offices, tech companies are, “taking care of the body, mind, and soul, [...] hav[ing] colonized the functions of other social institutions”. I saw this firsthand while working at my job at Equinox, where neighboring office buildings and corporations in the Upper East Side have employees gathering at this new third space focused on health and wellness, all paid for and sponsored by their respective companies. Chen observes that “Work has expanded in the lives of the highly skilled, by simultaneously extracting more of their time and energy and fulfilling more of their needs that religion once met”. In the Manhattan business district or East Village’s condominiums, this feels eerily true: a new kind of civic temple has risen, with cubicles or luxury apartments for pews and project launch parties or amenities for Sunday services. We can even cite this as a form of civic religion too, as corporate and luxury catechism, with the pulpit being the profit margin or reception desk. It’s no surprise that Congressmen and CEOs join in calling America God’s nation, for here corporate chapels and luxury wellness communities whisper a sacred prayer that serves the state and the functions of society no less than the church.

Yet for all the overt patriotism and corporate cultish communities, other corners of Manhattan tell a different story. Walking through Harlem and the Lower East Side, I encountered congregations and missions far from the center of power. In old, crumbling buildings and new, smaller modern churches, faith is lived as service and resistance. At a tiny Baptist church in the heart of one of the city’s housing projects in Harlem, people seem to be eager to be part of their community, this church, a religious institution, is out here serving it’s community, stacking food pantry crates and advertising food donation and services, an image of religious belief woven with feeding and helping the poor and those in need. A photograph of that advertisement sign sits out of focus in the photo collection. It makes me think of the theme of James Cone’s reading, where he talks about how in the face of empire and oppression, God is not neutral; God will always stand for and with the oppressed. To Cone, the gospel calls believers not to bless the powerful but to side with those who suffer at the hands of injustice. The pews and the hard-worn boots of the people at these places testify to this counter-narrative: here, faith leads in the effort for advocacy and love of thy neighbor, not as a source to back calls for wall-building or American exceptionalism. Cone wrote in detail about how, in the midst of racism, Black consciousness is an attempt for people to recover a past that has been deliberately destroyed by slave masters. In a similar way, many New York congregations of color, mostly in neighborhoods far from the business districts of corporate capitalism, hold on to the older traditions of Christian beliefs and faith that mainstream culture has neglected. Here, unlike the impressive cathedrals and churches becoming housing and tourist sites, liberation theology meets immigrant resilience, and the community works to meet the needs of those in unfortunate circumstances.

I took another photo in the East Village outside a small chapel right next to an old Gothic building, now luxury housing. This irony and contradiction reveal how faith and religion don’t have to look the same constantly; rather, it is the action that counts. In a city where more and more people are unable to afford rent, this scene of a church moving location represents Cone's point on how fighting injustice is not in vain, exactly. Some murals I saw at a church felt alive with that hope, where just as Cone writes, “we do not struggle in despair but in hope, not from doubt but from faith, not out of hatred but out of love for ourselves and for humanity”. The promise that acts of selfless service will yield justice here and now. In these working-class communities, citizenship in these institutions are practiced differently; they demand compassion and understanding, not only upward mobility. When I applied that lens to an organization, “God’s Love We Deliver in the heart of the East Village, I felt how Lofton’s analysis also applies. In Consuming Religion, she argues that even in seemingly mundane commerce and pop culture, religion continues to peek through. Where in Soho, corporate stores line the street, and so does this religious nonprofit that works to help the people unseen in the community, a sacred ritual of charity more profound than any Wall Street deal. Lofton’s point was simple, about how religion, publicly, might not be as present, but it still continues to be an active part of day-to-day life and part of consumer society. These images remind us that, even among Manhattan’s wealth, the story isn’t all greed and self-service. There are these “counter-narratives” grounded in liberation theology, solidarity, and service, the quiet resistance of faith communities under the radar of power.

Finally, the last theme of Everyday Sacred Leftovers captures what remains when the bigger institutional parts of the ideologies fade to the background. In the subways, on street corners, even the architecture, all leave clues to something holy that continues to persist. Many photos of street signs that continue to honor Sunday as a day for religious practice, sponsored and directly supported by the government. Although not photographed, I caught glimpses of leftover devotion everywhere: stickers stuck to poles with religious invites, crosses found in random places, small shrines there and here with Jesus candles newly lit in remembrance. There are also all the buildings that used to house religious practice that have now become housing for the rich and wealthy. This movement, where religion exists, exactly parallels the movement of people as areas change in inhabitants. These remnants are essentially sacred leftovers, religious aspects that have stuck to the largely secular city, with people walking past unnoticed. I think they echo Lofton’s idea about how we are constantly being consumed by religion in disguise. One sidewalk cafe had nailed a tiny religious symbol on the kitchen area’s wall, and some signs there and here about “God Bless America”. In my camera roll, the photos of buildings and religious institutions merge with the images of other moments of my day-to-day life, capturing the religion that was around me that might've gone unnoticed.. Lofton teaches that consumerism and spirituality blur, and how religion can become consumerism and consumerism become religion. In Manhattan, one might have faith and feel spiritual in both Equinox and St. Patrick’s.

Carolyn Chen’s work also resonates here. She tells us that even as many Americans leave traditional worship, they do not abandon religious longing; instead, they seek it in new places. Indeed, at my work, I was talking with a frequent climber who talked about his routine of coming to Equinox to climb with me, work out for a bit, then hit the sauna, and how it helps reset their week. A ritual that brings him community and spiritual relief. They are just one of many people who embrace their own ritual outside of a traditional religious institution, coming to my work at Equinox on a Sunday to find their own way of meditation and resetting.

Even José Casanova’s insights on secularism apply here; he discusses a lot about how the United States may look secular, but in fact, the country clearly remains religious in practice. The relics of faith I photographed, the leftover icons, the renewed buildings, and the borrowed scriptures in public domains make this clear. If we truly live in a secular age, it is a leaky one. Street signs, although not photographed, can be seen everywhere, with the remains of religious references, and each being part of the same city landscape. These places of faith, worship, and sacredness dot the concrete as if to tell the story of how belief is woven into daily life, and New York cannot fully scrub the spiritual ideas of its residents from its story.

In writing this opinion and reflection piece, I keep looking back at the connections from the readings in the class. The images of the city now have context from these theologians and writers. Lofton helps broaden what counts as religion in our consumer-focused corporate world, Chen shows how our offices and brands have become new chapels, Casanova reminds us that secularization isn’t necessarily real nor universal in the U.S., and Cone makes us consider where God or the divine exists, not in seats of power but with the people who needs them the most. The photographs tell the beginning of the deep historical story of New York. My comments, opinions, and thoughts are only the beginning, a suggestion to look at this diverse city again, where the assumption that skyscrapers and corporations mean godlessness might not be as accurate as you would think. In reality, the divine, the sacred, and people’s faith can be seen, displaced, recycled, and scattered across our day-to-day walk, many times just going unnoticed.

Ultimately, my photography project documenting the hidden sacredness of Manhattan images is only the start, inviting everyone to question the city’s religious separation, and if this quiet religious history in New York reinforces Christian nationalism, or does it quietly adapt and change it for good? For me, each building, each shrine, each act of service points to a question about who God or the divine is in America today. The city may claim to be secular, but its streets tell another story. After all, in New York, as anywhere, the divine, faith, and religion are in the forgotten and in the new alike, waiting for us to notice what’s left over, and what’s coming next.

Chen, Carolyn. Work Pray Code: How Work Is Replacing Religion in Silicon Valley. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2022.

CityRealty. “From Sacred Spaces to Living Places: 12 Former Houses of Worship You Can Call Home.” CityRealty, June 3, 2021. https://www.cityrealty.com/nyc/market-insight/features/future-nyc/from-sacred-spaces-living-places-12-former-houses-worship-you-can-call-home/48181.

Casanova, José. “The Secular and Secularisms.” Social Research 76, no. 4 (Winter 2009): 1049–66.

Cone, James H. God of the Oppressed. Revised edition. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1997.

Google Maps. “St. Paul’s Chapel at Trinity Church.” Google Street View, July 15, 2024. https://www.google.com/maps/@40.7426986,-73.9777098,12.03z/data=!4m6!1m2!10m1!1e1!11m2!2sex9GtqtbRqOKjtZ-MSPCNQ!3e3?entry=ttu&g_ep=EgoyMDI1MDQyMC4wIKXMDSoJLDEwMjExNDU1SAFQAw%3D%3D.

Lofton, Kathryn. Consuming Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2017.

StreetEasy. “Churches Converted to Condos in NYC.” StreetEasy Blog, October 12, 2023. https://streeteasy.com/blog/churches-converted-condos-nyc/.

StreetEasy. “Holier Than Thou? NYC Real Estate and Sacred Spaces.” StreetEasy Blog, February 5, 2024. https://streeteasy.com/blog/holier-than-thou-nyc-real-estate/.