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Black and Catholic: Racism, Identity, and Religion
Black and Catholic documents the exclusion, erasure, and systematic racism faced by Black Catholics, filling an essential gap in both Catholic and Black history.
In the storied history of the U.S. Catholic community, there is a long-standing myth held by Catholics and non-Catholics alike that there are no Black Catholics. In this deeply researched and compelling book, Tia Noelle Pratt debunks this myth and brings forward the religious experiences and culture of Black Catholics, filling a void in the literature of both U.S. Catholicism and African American religion. She identifies the nature and ramifications of systemic racism on American Catholicism and how that marginalization impacts Black Catholic identity. Building on her extensive research, Pratt amplifies the voices and experiences of Black Catholics through original interviews and by sharing the story of St. Peter Claver, Philadelphia’s first Black Catholic church. Black and Catholic also explores the ways that liturgy and music can build community, celebrate individuality, and resist racism.
Black and Catholic is an essential book that centralizes the Black Catholic community, revealing the heartache of racism and discrimination, the comfort drawn from the strength of generations of believers, and the celebration from combining the music and traditions of African American religious experiences with the belief and rituals of Roman Catholicism.
In the storied history of the U.S. Catholic community, there is a long-standing myth held by Catholics and non-Catholics alike that there are no Black Catholics. In this deeply researched and compelling book, Tia Noelle Pratt debunks this myth and brings forward the religious experiences and culture of Black Catholics, filling a void in the literature of both U.S. Catholicism and African American religion. She identifies the nature and ramifications of systemic racism on American Catholicism and how that marginalization impacts Black Catholic identity. Building on her extensive research, Pratt amplifies the voices and experiences of Black Catholics through original interviews and by sharing the story of St. Peter Claver, Philadelphia’s first Black Catholic church. Black and Catholic also explores the ways that liturgy and music can build community, celebrate individuality, and resist racism.
Black and Catholic is an essential book that centralizes the Black Catholic community, revealing the heartache of racism and discrimination, the comfort drawn from the strength of generations of believers, and the celebration from combining the music and traditions of African American religious experiences with the belief and rituals of Roman Catholicism.
224 pages, Hardcover
Published September 1, 2025
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October 29, 2025
“We won’t see any movement on this issue until the USCCB recognizes systemic racism as the pro-life issue that it is and puts as much attention and resources toward systemic racism as it puts toward abortion…” And I oop!
First—this is the first book for pleasure I’ve finished this semester—round of applause for me.
On to the book… 3.75 stars (rounded up, of course)
The history buff in me loved the sketch that Dr. Pratt provides of race and the U.S. Catholic Church, and how the racism experienced in U.S. parishes and dioceses was a microcosm of anti-blackness depicted more broadly across the United States. She does a great job of explaining the invidious nature of racism and how it both ostracized and continues to ostracize faithful lay people and those seeking the religious life as members of the clergy. I learned SO much about parish life, church closings, and the legal code that governs the Catholic Church (which made this little law student’s heart sing). I deeply appreciated that she showed that many folks have been committed to increasing Black presence in the Church as a means of preserving the faith and evangelizing all people for the Kingdom of God—making sure to leave the reader with the impression that this is a longstanding issue and dialogue. I love how digestible this book is, how it was the perfect read before bed each night over the past week, and how she draws on the narratives of people directly impacted by racism in the Catholic Church.
I can’t find it in myself to give a higher rating to this book, though, because an important distinction related to sifting (arbitrary) elements of an organized religion and sifting the perfect Word of God and who He is, needed to be drawn—and it wasn’t. Sifting stylistic worship elements that do not distort the liturgy or the Word is one thing, and the sifting of the complete, veritable Word of God is a radically different thing. While some marginalized identities may have to sift in one way to live in accordance with the Word, I’m not sure that we can equate that to the plight of Black Catholics and their spiritual and identity formation in the Church.
I also think some more time could have been spent analyzing how antithetical and oxymoronic racism is to the Kingdom of God, and how the perversion of the Gospel enabled the Church to persist in its perpetuation of discrimination. It seems clear that there was some “sifting” on behalf of the ultra-white Church that wasn’t touched upon enough in my view. I think my biggest problem is that I really dislike the whole sifting frame, but I could’ve seen its efficacy if it had been applied or explained differently.
This book attempts to do a lot in a relatively short piece—it felt like it went a mile long and an inch deep in many places. As such, some of the sociological methodology and terminology (especially as it relates to race) do not receive the attention and teasing out they require. I understand the difficulties and limitations of qualitative research, especially as they relate to sociology, acutely. Yet I think there are parts of the book that use the experiences of a relatively small sample to make overarching, far-reaching claims that I’m not confident are demonstrably true across the Black Catholic experience in the U.S. Perhaps to avoid a prolix text, we hear only from a handful of folks in a particular archdiocese. Still, I’m unsure of the external validity of the research presented, given so many other confounding factors that may not plague other Black Catholic enclaves in the US.
BUT (this is a huge and critical but), I recognize that Dr. Pratt has done the work, studied this, and has devoted her professional life to a subject I have only anecdotal evidence of, and I have read very little about. I’m not in the business of discounting expertise on account of my own hubris, and perhaps, there is something in her research that allows her to make these claims in good faith and conscience.
At any rate, this book is really important and met me at a critical time in my own spiritual formation. I share Dr. Pratt’s love and adoration of the Eucharist; I, too, see the Church as my home. I’m grateful that Dr. Pratt is doing the work that matters for the preservation of this faith and its vitality in perpetuity.
First—this is the first book for pleasure I’ve finished this semester—round of applause for me.
On to the book… 3.75 stars (rounded up, of course)
The history buff in me loved the sketch that Dr. Pratt provides of race and the U.S. Catholic Church, and how the racism experienced in U.S. parishes and dioceses was a microcosm of anti-blackness depicted more broadly across the United States. She does a great job of explaining the invidious nature of racism and how it both ostracized and continues to ostracize faithful lay people and those seeking the religious life as members of the clergy. I learned SO much about parish life, church closings, and the legal code that governs the Catholic Church (which made this little law student’s heart sing). I deeply appreciated that she showed that many folks have been committed to increasing Black presence in the Church as a means of preserving the faith and evangelizing all people for the Kingdom of God—making sure to leave the reader with the impression that this is a longstanding issue and dialogue. I love how digestible this book is, how it was the perfect read before bed each night over the past week, and how she draws on the narratives of people directly impacted by racism in the Catholic Church.
I can’t find it in myself to give a higher rating to this book, though, because an important distinction related to sifting (arbitrary) elements of an organized religion and sifting the perfect Word of God and who He is, needed to be drawn—and it wasn’t. Sifting stylistic worship elements that do not distort the liturgy or the Word is one thing, and the sifting of the complete, veritable Word of God is a radically different thing. While some marginalized identities may have to sift in one way to live in accordance with the Word, I’m not sure that we can equate that to the plight of Black Catholics and their spiritual and identity formation in the Church.
I also think some more time could have been spent analyzing how antithetical and oxymoronic racism is to the Kingdom of God, and how the perversion of the Gospel enabled the Church to persist in its perpetuation of discrimination. It seems clear that there was some “sifting” on behalf of the ultra-white Church that wasn’t touched upon enough in my view. I think my biggest problem is that I really dislike the whole sifting frame, but I could’ve seen its efficacy if it had been applied or explained differently.
This book attempts to do a lot in a relatively short piece—it felt like it went a mile long and an inch deep in many places. As such, some of the sociological methodology and terminology (especially as it relates to race) do not receive the attention and teasing out they require. I understand the difficulties and limitations of qualitative research, especially as they relate to sociology, acutely. Yet I think there are parts of the book that use the experiences of a relatively small sample to make overarching, far-reaching claims that I’m not confident are demonstrably true across the Black Catholic experience in the U.S. Perhaps to avoid a prolix text, we hear only from a handful of folks in a particular archdiocese. Still, I’m unsure of the external validity of the research presented, given so many other confounding factors that may not plague other Black Catholic enclaves in the US.
BUT (this is a huge and critical but), I recognize that Dr. Pratt has done the work, studied this, and has devoted her professional life to a subject I have only anecdotal evidence of, and I have read very little about. I’m not in the business of discounting expertise on account of my own hubris, and perhaps, there is something in her research that allows her to make these claims in good faith and conscience.
At any rate, this book is really important and met me at a critical time in my own spiritual formation. I share Dr. Pratt’s love and adoration of the Eucharist; I, too, see the Church as my home. I’m grateful that Dr. Pratt is doing the work that matters for the preservation of this faith and its vitality in perpetuity.
June 10, 2025
Book Review: Black and Catholic: Racism, Identity, and Religion by Tia Noelle Pratt
As a public health practitioner, I approached Pratt’s Black and Catholic with a dual lens: as a professional attuned to systemic inequities and as a reader moved by personal narratives of resilience. While not explicitly about public health, this sociological exploration of Black Catholic identity in America offers profound insights for health equity work—particularly in understanding how racialized religious spaces shape community well-being and belonging.
Emotional and Professional Resonance
Pratt’s unflinching examination of racism within the Catholic Church stirred both discomfort and recognition. Her analysis of how Black Catholics navigate dual marginalization—as racial minorities in a predominantly white Church and as religious minorities in broader Black communities—mirrors public health’s own reckoning with exclusionary systems. I found myself reflecting on parallels in healthcare: How do Black patients experience similar dualities in medical spaces shaped by white norms? The book’s themes of invisibility and erasure resonated deeply, especially when Pratt detailed how Black Catholic histories are often sidelined—a dynamic familiar to public health professionals working with marginalized populations whose lived experiences are absent from policy debates.
The most impactful sections explored identity as a protective factor. Pratt’s discussion of how faith communities foster resilience against racial trauma (e.g., through collective worship traditions) offered a framework for public health to consider spiritual health as a social determinant. Yet, I also felt frustration at institutional failures she exposes—like the Church’s reluctance to address systemic racism—which parallel healthcare’s slow progress toward cultural humility.
Constructive Criticism
While Pratt’s sociological rigor shines, I wished for explicit connections to health outcomes. How does racialized religious stress manifest in mental or physical health disparities among Black Catholics? A chapter linking these identity struggles to documented health inequities (e.g., hypertension rates, medical mistrust) would have strengthened the book’s relevance for practitioners. Additionally, the focus on Catholicism, while central, left me curious about interfaith comparisons (e.g., Black Protestant communities’ role in health advocacy).
Final Thoughts
Black and Catholic is a vital read for public health professionals committed to intersectional approaches. Pratt’s work challenges us to see religious spaces not just as sites of community health potential but as microcosms of structural inequities we must address. It left me questioning how our field might better collaborate with faith leaders to amplify marginalized voices—and to confront the racism embedded in our own systems.
Thank you to the publisher and Edelweiss for the free review copy. This book is a reminder that identity, faith, and health justice are inextricably linked.
Rating: 4.5/5 (A groundbreaking sociological work—would benefit from explicit health equity linkages.)
Note: As a public health reader, I appreciated Pratt’s refusal to sanitize uncomfortable truths. Her research underscores that healing requires naming harm first—a lesson equally applicable to healthcare as to the Church.
As a public health practitioner, I approached Pratt’s Black and Catholic with a dual lens: as a professional attuned to systemic inequities and as a reader moved by personal narratives of resilience. While not explicitly about public health, this sociological exploration of Black Catholic identity in America offers profound insights for health equity work—particularly in understanding how racialized religious spaces shape community well-being and belonging.
Emotional and Professional Resonance
Pratt’s unflinching examination of racism within the Catholic Church stirred both discomfort and recognition. Her analysis of how Black Catholics navigate dual marginalization—as racial minorities in a predominantly white Church and as religious minorities in broader Black communities—mirrors public health’s own reckoning with exclusionary systems. I found myself reflecting on parallels in healthcare: How do Black patients experience similar dualities in medical spaces shaped by white norms? The book’s themes of invisibility and erasure resonated deeply, especially when Pratt detailed how Black Catholic histories are often sidelined—a dynamic familiar to public health professionals working with marginalized populations whose lived experiences are absent from policy debates.
The most impactful sections explored identity as a protective factor. Pratt’s discussion of how faith communities foster resilience against racial trauma (e.g., through collective worship traditions) offered a framework for public health to consider spiritual health as a social determinant. Yet, I also felt frustration at institutional failures she exposes—like the Church’s reluctance to address systemic racism—which parallel healthcare’s slow progress toward cultural humility.
Constructive Criticism
While Pratt’s sociological rigor shines, I wished for explicit connections to health outcomes. How does racialized religious stress manifest in mental or physical health disparities among Black Catholics? A chapter linking these identity struggles to documented health inequities (e.g., hypertension rates, medical mistrust) would have strengthened the book’s relevance for practitioners. Additionally, the focus on Catholicism, while central, left me curious about interfaith comparisons (e.g., Black Protestant communities’ role in health advocacy).
Final Thoughts
Black and Catholic is a vital read for public health professionals committed to intersectional approaches. Pratt’s work challenges us to see religious spaces not just as sites of community health potential but as microcosms of structural inequities we must address. It left me questioning how our field might better collaborate with faith leaders to amplify marginalized voices—and to confront the racism embedded in our own systems.
Thank you to the publisher and Edelweiss for the free review copy. This book is a reminder that identity, faith, and health justice are inextricably linked.
Rating: 4.5/5 (A groundbreaking sociological work—would benefit from explicit health equity linkages.)
Note: As a public health reader, I appreciated Pratt’s refusal to sanitize uncomfortable truths. Her research underscores that healing requires naming harm first—a lesson equally applicable to healthcare as to the Church.
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