LOS ANGELES (RNS) — To drive the streets of Altadena now, a little over a year after the Eaton Fire, is to be confronted by acres of dirt — and greenery. The last of the charred debris was removed in August, and thanks to record-breaking winter rainfall, weeds and wild grasses have claimed many of the cleared lots.
The Eaton Fire was among the most devastating fires in California history, killing 19 people and destroying more than 9,400 structures in this racially and economically diverse suburb of Los Angeles. More than a dozen of those buildings were houses of worship — like Masjid Al-Taqwa, Altadena’s first mosque.
Jihad Abdus-Shakoor, whose parents helped found Masjid Al-Taqwa in the 1970s, spent much of his life within its walls. Today, all that remains of the mosque are its parking lot and street sign.
Abdus-Shakoor feels some relief at seeing rubble removed, but seeing the empty land is also “another blow,” he said. “You’re glad the city is cleaned up, but the finality of looking at dirt is a different experience.”
In the year since the fire, Altadena faith communities whose structures were burned or damaged have found temporary spiritual homes, often leaning on interfaith connections to do so. Gradually, some are moving toward rebuilding — although that day, for congregations and thousands of residents, remains distant.
For the Masjid Al-Taqwa community, the loss of the mosque was one of many. Around 30 households, including the Abdus-Shakoor family, lost homes and businesses. One founding member’s daughter was killed.
People meet at the new space for Masjid Al-Taqwa in Pasadena, Calif. (Photo courtesy of Jihad Abdus-Shakoor)
Within days of the Eaton Fire, the community gathered for Friday prayers, hosted at First AME Church-Pasadena. In the months to come, they met at an Islamic school before settling into a property owned by Pasadena Covenant Church.
The church encouraged them to make the two-room building their own. Over time, Abdus-Shakoor and others tore down the dividing wall and installed plush carpeting, creating a space more akin to a traditional mosque.
Abdus-Shakoor, who is heading up the mosque’s crisis recovery, estimates his community could remain in the church building for another year or two. “They’ve opened the doors to us, and it’s been a good collaboration,” he said.
A few blocks from Masjid Al-Taqwa’s former site was Altadena Baptist Church, a progressive, multiracial church that lost its sanctuary and children’s center to the blaze.
Since September, its members have held services downstairs at the Christian Science Church of Altadena — a white steepled chapel that somehow survived. “Our joke around here is that the only building to stand is the one wood-framed building,” said the Rev. George Van Alstine, associate pastor of Altadena Baptist Church. “So, Mary Baker Eddy” — founder of Christian Science — “must be right.”
Altadena Baptist Church meets downstairs at the Christian Science Church of Altadena in December 2025, in Altadena, Calif. (RNS photo/Hayden Royster)
Van Alstine has pastored his progressive, multiracial parish since 1972, while the Rev. Connie Larson DeVaughn, the current lead pastor, joined in 1987. For decades, they have both been part of groups such as the Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance of Greater Pasadena— partnerships, they believe, that helped pave the way for the interfaith cooperation needed this year.
“We don’t have to build those bridges at all,” DeVaughn said. “We already have them.”
One crucial organization has been the Clergy Community Coalition. Created in 2005 to help local faith groups collectively address social issues, CCC has played a key role in fire relief: connecting Altadena congregations with temporary spaces, publishing a list of damaged houses of worship, and introducing donors to faith groups in need.
“We didn’t know that the 20 years of deep relationship-building, how important that would be in 2025,” said Mayra Macedo-Nolan, the executive director of CCC.
A former pastor herself, Macedo-Nolan described effectively serving as a “pastor to pastors” this past year. She and CCC host a regular meeting for leaders of the houses of worship that were lost. Along with helping them meet the needs of their members and neighbors, she said, “we also wanted to help them consider how to build for the future of the community.”
Recently, congregations have begun taking concrete steps toward rebuilding. Some, such as Altadena Baptist Church and Masjid Al-Taqwa, are in talks with potential architects. Congregations with larger footprints, according to Macedo-Nolan, are considering adding affordable housing units to their properties as well.
The Rev. Connie Larson DeVaughn. (RNS photo/Hayden Royster)
DeVaughn sees a “golden opportunity” to create something better. She is clear-eyed about what that could mean. “We imagine that it’s going to be wealthy people buying in after the fire,” she said. “So we do want it to be beautiful.”
She is also conscious of Altadena’s substantial queer community. In recent years, DeVaughn’s church has begun defining itself as LGBTQ+-inclusive and affirming. “That’s in my mind,” she said. “I’m thinking, ‘What does our LGBTQ+ community need from us?’”
Whatever space the church builds, financing will inevitably be a factor. With insurance and Federal Emergency Management Agency reimbursements only partially covering rebuilding costs, they and other congregations will likely need to fundraise millions.
Across town, the Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center is weighing its own options and needs. The only Conservative Jewish synagogue in the western San Gabriel Valley, its worship space, library and entire campus were leveled by the fire, with only the Torah scroll preserved.
People participate in Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center’s one-year memorial event since the Eaton Fire, Jan. 6, 2026, at the site of the former synagogue in Pasadena, Calif. (Photo by Kathy DeNinno Photography, courtesy of PJTC)
A year on, the synagogue’s 450 members gather at the chapel of the First United Methodist Church of Pasadena, while their religious school rents space at a nearby independent school. It was amid this season of uncertainty that Rabbi Joshua Ratner entered last August after accepting the role of PJTC’s senior rabbi.
Ratner arrived knowing he had “spiritual reserves” his congregants might not. But he has been struck by a “strong spirit of resilience and optimism,” especially around what a new campus could bring, from a revamped library to a basketball court to expansive views of the San Gabriel Mountains. “This is a real exciting opportunity to build something from scratch,” he said.
In the meantime, Ratner acknowledged, “we are, to borrow a biblical theme, in the wilderness.”
While their Methodist hosts have been “accommodating” and “respectful” — obscuring the cross with curtains during Shabbat services, for instance — “we know where we are,” he said. “It doesn’t feel like home.”
The sentiment is reflective of Altadena at large. Fewer than a dozen homes have been rebuilt, and 7 in 10 residents are still displaced. With many facing financial uncertainty, and homeowners of color disproportionately impacted, there are concerns that only wealthy, white Altadenans will return home at all.
The former Altadena Community Church in December 2025, in Altadena, Calif. (RNS photo/Hayden Royster)
Abdus-Shakoor, his wife and his parents currently rent a house in Duarte, about 12 miles east of Altadena. At the moment, there is a significant gap between their insurance payout and what the family ultimately needs to rebuild.
“The community as a whole, from the faith-based organizations to all the residents, we still need a lot of help and support,” Abdus-Shakoor said. “It’s been a year, and it’s easy for this to be forgotten. But the journey is long.”
This article was produced as part of the RNS/Interfaith America Religion Journalism Fellowship.
