Avenue of Churches

Our Lady, Queen of the Most Holy Rosary Cathedral

Collingwood Boulevard—the Avenue of Churches. That nickname has deep roots in Toledo history and speaks volumes about the city’s architectural and religious legacy.

The story begins in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, during a period of rapid growth and civic ambition in Toledo. As the city expanded westward, Collingwood emerged as a prominent north-south thoroughfare, stretching from the downtown core into what was then the fashionable Old West End. This area became home to Toledo’s elite—bankers, industrialists, and professionals—who built grand mansions and supported equally grand houses of worship.

By the early 1900s, Collingwood Boulevard had developed a stunning concentration of churches representing nearly every major denomination, many of them housed in architecturally significant buildings. These churches weren’t just places of worship—they were statements of civic pride, cultural hubs, and community landmarks.

At one point, within a one-mile stretch, you could find:

Collingwood Presbyterian Church – Known for its Gothic architecture and community programs.
First Unitarian Church of Toledo – A center for social justice and progressive thinking.
First Congregational Church – With its massive columns and beautiful stained glass.
Glenwood Lutheran Church – Offering a more modest but deeply rooted Lutheran presence.
Our Lady, Queen of the Most Holy Rosary Cathedral – Beautifully constructed in a Spanish Plateresque style.

Each church had its own personality, congregation, and mission, but together they earned Collingwood its poetic nickname: The Avenue of Churches.

The moniker wasn’t just hyperbole. Sunday mornings would see well-dressed families walking or driving to their respective churches, bells ringing in sequence, and pews filled with generations of Toledoans. These churches also played vital roles beyond Sunday services—offering music programs, soup kitchens, social clubs, and moral guidance.

Unfortunately, like many urban corridors, Collingwood Boulevard faced decline in the mid-20th century as suburbanization took hold and congregations shrank or relocated. Some of the churches closed or merged, and a few buildings fell into disrepair. But several still stand—some restored, others repurposed—silent witnesses to a time when faith and architecture walked hand in hand.

Today, when you drive down Collingwood, the nickname may not seem as obvious, but the legacy remains etched in stone, glass, and memory.

The Avenue of Churches Stunning, sculpted stone stands sentinel,

Weathered by a century's winter snow and summer sun.

Spired sanctuaries cradle congregants in quiet reverie,

Their warmth and spirit echo beyond time.

Ivied walls climb, framing vibrant Victorian verandas,

Yards steeped in grace, where generations breathe history.

Laughter drifts from smiling souls, arm-in-arm,

Tracing wide limestone paths etched for timeless strolls.

An avenue of gentle giants—trees arching with wisdom—

And homes, stoic and stately, leaning on one another,

Sharing whispers of yesteryears in their creaking beams,