The first mosque in America welcomed its neighbors. That spirit still matters

In the summer of 1937, something remarkable happened in Cedar Rapids. At the third anniversary celebration of the nation’s first purpose-built mosque — now known as the Mother Mosque of America—Iowa Secretary of State Robert E. O’Brian gave the keynote address. He spoke in praise of religious diversity and lauded what he called “the splendid tolerance of the Moslem religion.”

O’Brian wasn’t alone. The event included readings and poems in Arabic and English, prayers from an imam visiting from Detroit, and readings from a 267-year-old Qur’an, believed at the time to be the oldest in the United States. Boys and girls from the mosque’s junior lodge sang “America.” One speaker, Sufi M.R. Bengalee of Chicago, declared that Islam had always stood for universal brotherhood, democracy, and peace. The mosque’s founders, mostly immigrants, invited the public to join. Prayers, poetry, and programs were arranged so non-Arabic speakers could understand.

It wasn’t the first time. In 1935, when the mosque was dedicated by the Rose of Fraternity Society, neighbors attended an open house. Later that year, the public was welcomed to a community dinner. Other events at the mosque were covered in the Cedar Rapids Gazette’s society pages. A teacher named Kemel Hind offered Arabic language instruction to anyone, regardless of religion, and the community’s school was likewise “open to folk of all denominations.”

Soon after its opening, the mosque’s members launched charitable drives for neighbors in need and populations abroad. Here in Iowa — in a town not often recognized as distinctive in American religious history — Muslim Iowans created one of the first communities in the country to dedicate a formal mosque — and the first purpose-built mosque, planting a visible, public expression of Islam rooted in faith, family, and civic welcome.

This history is not well known. But it should be. Especially now.

Today, faith communities across the country are asking whether they still belong in public life. Islam remains widely misunderstood. In 2024 alone, the Council on American-Islamic Relations received more than 8,650 reports of discrimination — the highest number since it began publishing its annual civil rights report in 1996. Other forms of discrimination are rising, too.

But nearly a century ago, a group of mostly immigrant Midwestern Muslims showed us another way. They held public dinners and open houses. They invited others to learn Arabic, attend classes, and celebrate with them — even designing mosque programs so non-Arabic speakers could feel at home. They raised families who made contributions to Cedar Rapids and sacrificed for their country. One member of the community, Edward Sheronick, died fighting in World War II at the Battle of the Bulge.

The building still stands. The memory still speaks. And the values — education, hospitality, shared civic life — still matter.

In 1937, Iowans didn’t just tolerate differences, they prayed together, dined together, and celebrated together.

Let’s carry that forward.

Austin Albanese is a historian and writer based in Rochester, NY, whose work explores religious pluralism and small-town memory.