In this chapter, we focus on international migration from the perspective of the migrants themselves, examining the different tactics and ways of space making they deploy. We begin with the religious lives of individual migrants, first providing a theoretical presentation of how religion can be understood as an individual yet social phenomenon. Migration changes the social structures of a person’s life in many ways and, as a social phenomenon, religion is likely to go through similar drastic changes in connection with migration. Consequently, we need to know more about religion as a social structure and the function of it. Then we demonstrate how migrants’ religious lives can be understood by addressing the issue of religious practices, how people’s religion relates to integration and, finally, how religious beliefs may be a motivating factor in developing active citizenship.

We continue by describing and discussing the religious communities of which migrants may be part, illustrating the patterns of establishment of religious organisations, processes of community space making and how migrant communities relate to established religious organisations. We then relate these two perspectives – the individual and the more collective (the communities) – to transnational, global and technological contexts, which have changed immensely during the second half of the twentieth century and have had a deep impact on the migrants’ religious lives (national context is the subject of Chap. 4). Chapter Three concludes with an in-depth presentation of how religious services are affected by migration, showing the close inter-relationship between the individual and the communities in terms of power practices in this area.

1 The Social Functions of Religion

1.1 Demographics

Demographic tendencies affect the process of shaping religious communities in new home countries. International migration to Europe tends to be imbalanced as to age and sex, especially labour migration. Many migrants are young, sometimes only children, and migration from many places tends to be dominated by one sex – often, but not always, men – but if migration continues over time, this balance tends to level out. For example, the 1960s labour migration from Anatolian Turkey to Sweden was dominated by young men but this changed during the 1970s when women, children and some older cohorts started to arrive. Soon the group consisted of roughly equal numbers of men and women. Refugees arriving in Europe are also primarily young; as many as 25 percent (2015) and 34 percent (2016) were children according to UNHCR data on refugees arriving to EU by sea. Male refugees are at least twice as common, some years three times as common as female.

People of the same faith are inclined to create communities which then provide and uphold moral regulations to demarcate inclusion and exclusion. Some are based on religious dogmas, others on general, regionally shared morality at times legitimated by reference to religion. A rule of thumb is that the more rural and collectively oriented a society, the more tightly knit the relations between morals, culture and religion, while the more urban and highly educated the group, the more likely religion is experienced as demarcated in time and space, and associated with theology and the performance of rituals. However, such a general rule is problematic in relation to mega-cities like Istanbul, Teheran or Lagos, where whole areas may be rural in character due to rapid urbanisation and the expansion of the city’s boundaries. The interlacing of perceptions of morals, culture and religion should not be presupposed, but researched.

1.2 Religion as a Social Structure

Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann (1966) made visible the social structures that support the relevance of, for example, religious practices and socio-religious norms, and labelled them plausibility structures. Values and norms are continually and unreflectively perpetuated in families, schools, religious institutions, media and so on, and tend to be taken for granted when growing up surrounded by social structures that are fairly in tune with each other. After migration, plausibility structures are generally challenged by changed social structures in the new place of residence. The lack of some, or all, former plausibility structures, are challenged by, new, social structures built on other values and norms.

When individuals, families or groups migrate from one place to another and then form interacting social groups in a new country, differences in norms and moral expectations between the established population of the new country and the migrant group tend to stand out more than similarities. Social structures and norms in the new country are upheld and reproduced by wide-reaching public institutions, such as schools, health services and government institutions, as well as workplaces and associations for leisure activities. In contrast, many migrant religious communities strive to offer plausibility structures that uphold unchanged or revitalised religious values and moral expectations, but without the structure of former milieus and the complex of practices and institutions to support or enforce worldviews. Exposure to competing social structures is known to give rise to the risk of individual cognitive dissonance as well as tensions between spouses, between generations in families, and between people of, nominally, the same religious background but with different practices and norms, aspiring to different lives (e.g., Blaschke, 2000; Roy, 2004); it also affects relations with the established population, their expectations and preconceived notions of people and the position of religion in society (e.g., Nielsen & Otterbeck, 2016).

Migrants have a statistical tendency to settle where others of similar background live, thereby maintaining some control and benefiting from contacts and solidarity and marking big cities like London with its migration history. Chinatown is positioned at the centre; the East End was long the home of the largest Jewish population, replaced from the 1960s by Bangladeshi migrants who took up residency as the Jewish population relocated to parts of North London like Stamford Hill and Golders Green. Other areas, like Wood Green, are dominated by or at least have a clear presence of Kurdish, Polish and West Indian migrants, with flourishing restaurants, grocery stores and religious centres catering for specific ethno-religious groups and making up a home away from home. Throughout history, such settlement patterns for migrants and ethnic minorities have grown organically but have also, at times, been ordered by the authorities, the Jewish Ghetto in Rome being the prime symbolic example of the latter.

1.3 Morals and the Bracketing of Them

Exposure to a variety of plausibility structures associated with different groups is not necessarily a problem. People have a remarkable capacity to manage concurrently belonging to several such structures, upholding different values that shape so-called ‘moral registers’ which the individual can navigate. The theory of moral registers has been developed by Samuli Schielke (2015) in his study of young men in a large village just outside Alexandria, Egypt, where he stresses ‘the performative, situational, and dialogic character of norms’ (p. 54). Schielke describes some parallel moral registers of particular relevance for his informants, among them religion, social respect, family solidarity and being seen as individually of good character (a good friend, a good son). By definition, registers are competences that can be mobilised. While not to be taken lightly, registers do not control individuals; rather, the knowledge of the norms implied by a register may make you calculate that you should abide by the ideal to be perceived as respectable and acceptable, both in your own and in others’ eyes. In the context Schielke analyses, Islam takes on an overarching function but can tactically be bracketed when having a love affair or when horsing around with friends; thus, Islamic morals are discursively affirmed but not necessarily honoured in practice. The content and function of religious morals is a matter of empirical enquiry but the existence of overlapping morals registers can be assumed. Thus, while the young men’s plausibility structures homogenously support the importance of religion, as individuals they are also, in specific situations, part of other plausibility structures that support other moral registers.

In Otterbeck’s (2010a, 2015) research on young adults with a Muslim background in two cities in southern Scandinavia, there is a clear gender dimension to the bracketing of religious morals. The young adult men who upheld moral rules at home – not only to please parents but because it felt right and part of their religion and ethnic authenticity – sometimes ate non-halal meat, sampled alcohol and had romantic relations when out of home’s reach. The young adult women did not admit to any such transgressions, but they were aware of such transgressions and torn between pride in being mature and consistent in their behaviour and irritated by the laxness of others, as it challenged the meaningfulness of their own abiding by the norms. Yet none of the women wore a veil (apart from in prayer) or were equally attached to an Islamic worldview as their parents. They were in flux. As young as they were, in their late teens, they could already reflect on the different phases of religious practice they had traversed, and their changed perceptions of what Islam meant, and they assumed and discussed future changes.

Ambivalence about belonging and alienation in relation to possible past, present and future identifications among migrants is not uncommon (e.g., Magnusson, 2011; Nordin, 2004). As illustrated by the Rushdie quote above, and as pointed out by Peter Kivisto (2014: 35), memoirs, novels and movies by migrants frequently revolve around ambivalence about belonging, and identification with elements including religious truths and structures. Sometimes, researchers frame this as taking on multiple identities, thus underlining the different roles one might play in different and separate social contexts, such as home and the workplace. Many contexts are, however, interlaced; it is up to the researcher to find out how. For example, it is fully possibly for a football club to be intimately tied to an ethno-religious community with a migration history, making identities like player/supporter and devotee/member coincide (e.g., Aktan, 2017; Müller, 2014).

1.4 Gender, Social Norms, and Integration

One important and pervasive function of religion as social structure is to do with gender. One can even claim that all religions construct gender in different ways, usually involving the subordination of women (e.g., Khan, 2021). For example, religious social norms have a long history of being gendered, in local or regional religious traditions as well as in intellectual interpretations. When migrating to a new society, gendered mobility becomes important for the type of integration performed.

Therefore, we must ask ourselves questions about whether the migrant will be seen as turning against religious norms if marrying outside their natal religious group, or not. For some like the Druze there is a strong tradition of endogamy for both men and women. A Druze risks excommunication if breaking these rules. Muslim women may similarly have to adhere to endogamy, risking social exclusion if they do not, while Muslim men, according to common theology, can marry a believing woman outside Islam, and marry even non-believing women in practice. Still, in Europe there is growing pressure on Islamic leaders to accept marriages between Muslim women and non-Muslim men and of same-sex couples (e.g., Petersen, 2020). Increasingly, Jews marry non-Jews in Europe despite theological concerns about this. But, as Dencik (2009) demonstrates, marriage between a Jewish man and a non-Jewish woman is more acceptable than the other way around. Thus, a classical measure of integration, as noted by Gordon as early as1964 – intermarriage between a migrant group and the established population over the generations – will be affected by how people experience the degree of freedom or guidance provided by religious norms and possible group pressures, and is, therefore, not only about general integration. What is considered plausible, suitable, shameful or unacceptable through a religious lens varies with gender and religious belonging, but also with the generations over time. Thus, religious norms, ideas and group belonging are potential factors in how migrants form attachments and interests.

Practicing gendered religious morals, rituals and habits is particularly complex when the established consider – or when opinion makers try to influence others to consider – the practices problematic or even provocative of political and social turbulence; these have also become crucial ammunition for populist, nationalist and racist politicians, as is evident in discussions about Muslim veils, Sikh turbans or reservations about shaking hands.

Thus, researchers must take religious traditions and gender into account when discussing general integration if they are to reach a better understanding of groups that might not fit into overall models.

2 The Migrant’s Religious Life and Its Effects

When studying how individual migrants select tactics and make space in their religious lives, the great variation in ways of relating to religious norms and rituals and their dependence on every conceivable element in the migration processes becomes apparent. Ethnographic and micro-sociological methods are the most likely way to capture such complexities.

To illustrate that religion can really be a very crucial part of life and not only a leisure time activity, we first address two fields of ritualisation: everyday ritual behaviour and life-cycle rituals. Then we examine a well-established discussion about religion as a resource or a hindrance to becoming part of a society. To complement this, we also discuss how religion can be an important part of what motivates active citizenship.

2.1 Ritualisation and Quotidian Rituals

Ritualisation is the process of making something into a ritual, but also the appropriation of prior ritualisations existing within a religion, and investigating it is good strategy when both illustrating and discussing religious life. Some rituals are quotidian—that is, ritual behaviour brought into the everyday life—while others are regular routines (for example weekly prayers) or calendrical and lifecycle rituals (Knott, 2016). We consciously use the word ritual in regard to quotidian activities to stress how physical practices like clothing, movement, emotions, eating and drinking can be ritualised, that is, ordered by theology and tradition, and then embodied. Practiced quotidian rituals signal complex and situation-bound webs of morals, group belonging and gender roles (quite often relating to modesty), and enable others to interpret the level and type of religion of practicing people, which of course includes the risk of misinterpretation.

In a diaspora situation, migrants will find some rituals more important than others and probably make a selection. Unlike quotidian rituals, some are profoundly associated with a sacred geography left behind, such as visits to shrines, temples and saints’ tombs, the prayers said there and the expected spiritual rewards for the visit. Yet other rituals may be upheld, partly maintained or re-ritualised and re-contextualised. After migration, many regular ritual routines and calendrical rituals may instead take place in the private sphere of families, with the specific problem that these holidays might fall on general workdays. Some may prefer to pray several times daily, which can become problematic in the new setting. While European countries generally protect individual freedom of religion, people of minority religions generally have no specific state-guaranteed right to ask for extra days off each year to celebrate calendric religious feasts, although many workplaces today understand the need for short vacations on such occasions, making them fairly easy to celebrate.

When quotidian rituals among migrants, and others, are brought to school, to work and out in public, by default these make space. Sometimes, the possibility of practicing quotidian rituals depends on the cooperation and goodwill of the more established population. Will the army and school serve halal and kosher food? Will employers accept Sikh turbans, Muslim veils, Jewish shtreimels and other visible religious symbols? Will a prayer room be available? Will avoiding alcohol at a workplace party be accepted, barely tolerated or seen as anti-social? Can migrants initiate change by pointing out their need to engage in a practice that differs from those of the established groups? Because of the difficulties in maintaining quotidian rituals, some migrants privatise these practices, for example, by using the headscarf only when praying, eating kosher and halal primarily at home, or shaking hands across assumed gender boundaries at work with colleagues and customers but never in contexts controlled by religious peers. Such tactical compartmentalisations of everyday life may be crucial techniques for coping with social and religious expectations (remember moral registers) in new contexts (e.g., Jouili, 2015; Otterbeck, 2010a).

Others insist on practicing quotidian rituals at work and school or argue for the right to do so. This has led to pragmatic solutions and integration, but also to legal discussions and legal cases both on national and EU levels. The outcomes have varied a lot depending on country, but also on when during the last decades the discussions or cases have taken place (e.g., Jakku, 2018). We return to the state-level politics of religion in Chap. 4.

2.2 Ritualisation and Lifecycle Rituals

The interconnectedness of private, shared and public space is well illustrated in lifecycle rituals, such as those related to birth, marriage and death. In her PhD thesis (2001), Nathal Dessing interviews Muslim practitioners about lifecycle rituals (related to birth, adulthood, marriage and death) and observes their enactment, both as they are performed in the Netherlands and as they were (and are) performed in their country of origin. Dessin concludes that many of these rituals have changed in various ways in the Netherlands, some have kept their original form and others have disappeared. The reasons for the changes or disappearance, Dessing argues, are heavily dependent on the new setting. The Muslims studied strive to retain the rituals as before but often must adapt or abandon them due to their new social, cultural and juridical circumstances. A distinctive tendency in the processes of adaptation of the rituals is attrition, that is, the lifecycle rituals become fewer and less varied. This has, for example, to do with a loss of competence over time among practitioners, the reduction in the number of people upholding them where they live, educational levels and institutional resources (Dessing, 2001, see also Holm Pedersen, 2009; Andizian, 1986).

Another aspect that tends to follow from migration is the theologisation of religion which occurs when local traditions, sometimes experienced as being at the centre of a broader religion, are challenged by migration. The generation growing up in the new home country sometimes fails to see the relevance of rituals connected to regional cults, a specific religious geography or flow of life; rather, the rituals at the core of normative theology are those that are perceived as relevant (e.g., Otterbeck, 2010a; Waardenburg, 1978).

Such changes in lifecycle rituals are obviously not unique to Muslim immigrants. Anne Sigfrid Grønseth’s (2018) research on Tamil Hindus in Norway shows similar patterns. In a case study of the funeral of a Tamil refugee who suffered a fatal, work-related accident in Northern Norway, Grønseth demonstrates how the mourning Tamil community ‘carefully considered appropriate funerary practices, values and needs amid calculations of the risk of exposing what could be regarded as their “exotic Tamilness”’ (p. 2617), thereby risking increased marginalisation in relation to the established social structures. In the end, the funeral – taking place in a Protestant church, the service held by a Catholic priest, but including Hindu practices – rather encouraged cohesion. In the shared human experience of loss, grief and consolation, integration between Tamils and Norwegian co-workers was made possible (see also Fesenmyer, 2017; Fibiger, 2017; Hämmerli & Mucha, 2014; Fog Olwig, 2009).

2.3 Religion as a Resource or Hindrance for Integration

It has been pointed out in migration research that religion, or religiosity, constitutes a facilitator for integration into the USA, but has other functions in Europe (e.g., Foner & Alba, 2008). While the argument has some substantial merit, it is too crude. Instead, we need to ask: when does religion facilitate integration? Well, firstly it can do so by strengthening the individual, being something in which to place trust that provides answers to existential questions, such as those related to the migration process the person is undergoing. Other answers are likely to be when religion provides social capital in the form of networks that can be helpful when seeking opportunities (housing, work, partners) and as cultural capital (knowledge and sought-after competence, including in religious fields). Charles Hirschman (2004) suggests that religion, for migrants, is a way to gain refuge, respectability and resources, and thus can facilitate integration. We also need to investigate when religion forms a hindrance. Religion does not help integration when stereotypes, dislike or hatred on the part of the established or other out-group migrants stigmatize, discriminate or physically threaten. It neither helps when religious rules and norms hinder social, economic and professional life, and when loyalties to different identities clash in bothersome ways.

Thus, religion can function as both ‘adaptive solidarity’, which indicates processes in which religion is highlighted and strengthened as a way to facilitate integration into the larger society, and as ‘defensive solidarity’, which implies processes in which religion is highlighted and strengthened as protection against perceived threats and exclusion from established social structures (e.g., Breton, 2012).

One of the reasons that researchers have concluded that religious engagement is good for integration in the USA is that congregations function to a high degree as networks for work and other opportunities (e.g., Chen, 2006; Hirschman, 2004; Lorentzen et al., 2009). Because of the expectations this raises among migrants, some find themselves engaging, regardless of personal religious (dis)interest, and some may even convert to locally established groups as, generally, people of all faiths care for converts (Kivisto, 2014: Chap. 2). However, in a study of Chinese migrants to the Greater Washington DC area, Yang (1998) cautions against monocausal explanations about conversion reasons and finds that other factors, such as the trajectory of religion in communist China, clearly affect the wish to explore Christianity. Further, in some environments, like college campuses, evangelical Christians, as well as some Muslims groups, are well organised and active in proselytising.

In European countries, by comparison, religion tends to have another function. Service attendance in many European countries is generally low, meaning that parish life has to a lesser degree provided the social networks and solidarity needed for finding work or housing (e.g., Bruce, 2002); however, within certain regions or cities, it might be as important as in the USA, while religious organisations set up by migrants have at times proven to be efficient social networks leading to economic integration. Some groups, especially revivalist groups and those who may have already been ethno-religious minorities in the country of origin, tend to show strong solidarity with fellow believers, thus bettering the chances of the individual engaging with or belonging to them. Such solidarity may also be shown because of shared language or national background. For example, when Tatar Muslim immigrant Ali Zakerov fled to Stockholm in the 1940s, he went to the Jewish furrier Harry Rock and appealed to the latter’s sense of solidarity as they both spoke Yiddish, which Zakerov had picked up from Jewish friends in Tallinn. He then worked for Jewish furriers until retirement. In the late 1940s, together with a few friends, Zakerov founded the first Islamic organisation in Sweden and served as its first chairman (Sorgenfrei, 2020).

Thus, while not arguing that everyone has an instrumental attitude to religious organisations, we may conclude that at least some strive to find socio-economic benefits as well as religious comfort by engaging with religious organisations. The chances of gaining from social capital in relation to religious environments seem better in the USA than in most European countries, as mentioned; still, the intersection between religious organisations, economic integration and migration in different European contexts merits more research. As a suggestion, researchers would do well to survey rural and small city milieus and a variety of different religious groups.

Yet another aspect of integration comes into view from the social psychological perspective explored by Lars Dencik (1993), who argues that Jews in Sweden have the potential benefit of bifocal vision: one set trained by the Swedish experience and one by the Jewish. This would also cover religious literacy in both Christianity and Judaism. Yet instead of unequivocally postulating this as an advantage, he also points out the risks of not managing to code switch or learn from experience, although successfully negotiating these pitfalls and knowing more than one context intimately no doubt has potential advantages. The ability to code switch and double competences or the lack thereof are interesting research areas when approaching migrants.

Above we mentioned discrimination and stereotypes. Harsh, discriminatory opinions and acts directed towards a religious other are, sadly, found all through human history and are not unique to contemporary times, nor to Europe and North America, although the target changes. While anti-Catholic sentiments have somewhat diminished in Protestant environments in Europe and North America compared to the beginning of the twentieth century, anti-Muslim sentiments have soared. Outbreaks and new trajectories of antisemitism are ever-present while anti-Buddhism is marginal (we return to this in Sect. 4.3). However, in addition to creating fear and victims of violence, ruining opportunities and disrupting integration of all sorts, discrimination can also cause people to mobilise, to speak up and engage when opportunities arise. It is to such engagement we now turn.

2.4 Religion and Active Citizenship

For some immigrants, religion is a motivational factor in developing active citizenship. Engaging in charities, NGOs or political parties – locally or nationally – may be motivated by religious ethics and belonging. All major religious traditions have welfare elements of which healthcare, education and socio-economic welfare are generally key (for more on charity see Sect. 5.5). Economic remittances sent from individual migrants to family, relatives and aid organisations in former home countries are on a scale vastly outperforming the aid programs of European states (e.g., Kapur & McHale, 2009). Besides being a decent thing to do, religious rewards, obligations and motivations play crucial roles in this, a welfare tradition that often also covers supporting local religious organisations and religious specialists.

Interesting patterns emerge when examining activities in the new home country. It is well established in the study of immigrants within political science that it is more likely for the political energy of immigrants to be directed towards NGOs and unions, rather than being channelled through established political parties (e.g., Stoltz, 2000). This likely holds true for migrants with a religious background who may engage socially and politically through religious organisations as well, particularly charities working for the betterment of the lives of fellow believers (and at times more broadly than that). Jewish, Muslim, Sikh, Christian, Buddhist, Hindu and Druze charity funds, among others, operate all over Europe, becoming part of the expected normality of cities through their space making (see Sect. 5.5).

Other migrants – either motivated by or working against religious morals – engage in national politics. Exemplifying the latter is the world renown, self-identifying ex-Muslim, Ayaan Hirsi Ali, who has a Somali background and has used her knowledge about migrant contexts and Islam to create a political career in the Netherlands at a time when the political discourse on Islam and Muslim migrants is changing from one favouring accommodation to criticism (e.g., Buruma, 2006). Typically, when migrant politicians with a minority religious background engage in politics, they tend, at least initially, to profile themselves as experts on migrants, partly because it is expected of them but also due to engagement and competence (e.g., Cato & Otterbeck, 2014). It becomes clear when studying individual politicians with migrant backgrounds and strong attachments to a minority faith that their loyalty is often questioned; they may be regarded as ‘Uncle Toms’ or suspected of double agendas due to their engagement in multiple spheres. It is, moreover, hard to reconcile national discourses with those prevalent in religious migrants’ circles, which are quite often in different languages with different rhetorical traditions (e.g., Cato & Otterbeck, 2014; Jakku, 2018; Petersen, 2020).

3 The Establishment of Religious Organisations

Typically, most migrants to Europe since WWII have arrived either as low-skilled workers or as refugees. There is no shortage of highly skilled migrants, students, businesspeople and other professionals, but statistically they make up a minority. Thus, when establishing new religious organisations, the restricted financial resources of members has often decided where to rent or build a room for services and administration. As many migrants have taken up residency in social housing blocks encircling European cities, this is also where mosques, temples, churches and other religious organisations’ buildings are to be found. As we shall see in the next section, the dynamics are a bit different for transnational and global movements.

Two kinds of migrant organisations tend to engage in religion: cultural associations engaging in religion on holidays or at ritualised moments, like holding a prayer to bless food, and religion-centred communities. While the first type is often created by enthusiasts wanting to keep the complexities of their culture alive, at least in one space, the second type is, unsurprisingly, started by people who experience their religion as special and crucial in ways that sometimes intimidate those less passionate, who might want to engage with religion from a more cultural or less serious perspective. In real life the two organisation types often overlap, especially for ethno-religious groups like Sikhs, Jews, Yazidis, Alevis and Syriac Orthodox Christians. Still, we find it important to stress the two types as quite a number of organisations are characterised by exactly this difference.

3.1 The Patterns of Establishment

Drawn from a range of observations, the following tends to be the pattern for the establishment of religious organisations (e.g., Rogers, 2019; Mack, 2017; Jacobsen & Myrvold, 2011; Maussen, 2007; Waardenburg, 1983). The first migrants of a denomination will worship at home. The next step is to join forces with peers and seek temporary, rented facilities, religious or profane, often on the outskirts of towns, in social housing or industrial areas. Religious representatives, at this stage of the process, often travel around and hold ceremonies in various parts of a country or a region. Here Christian migrant groups have had an advantage in societies with established Christian denominations, as it has been easier to access, rent or borrow more centrally located places of worship or simply exercise religious practices as part of religious ceremonies already taking place. For example, the studies in Goodhew and Cooper (2019) demonstrate how some Christian groups have managed to find central locations, perhaps sharing or temporarily renting spaces in mega-cities like London. Yet racism and adverse expectations can hinder smooth integration into existing religious structures, as experienced by the so called Windrush generation – migrants from the Caribbean who primarily arrived in the UK during the 1950s and 1960s. Even though most Windrush-generation migrants could find their Christian direction in the UK, the urge to form their own congregations became acute as they simply did not feel welcome in the community (see further discussion in Sect. 3.5).

The tactics of making space for religion can be illustrated by ‘guest workers’ in France during the 1970s, who often lived in foyersFootnote 1 in which there were no rooms for religious practice, although workers belonging to Christian faiths could celebrate their traditions outside the foyers – a facility not available to the Muslim workers at the time. This led to demands for the same opportunities among the Muslim workers, and in the mid-1970s they held strikes in order to get prayer rooms and ritually prepared food in the foyers. The companies responsible realised that it was necessary for them to accommodate these requirements, and in less than ten years, 80 percent of such housing in France had installed prayer rooms (Maussen, 2007: 992f).

The next step in the establishment pattern is to find a more long-term place, rented or not, often on the outskirts of towns where rents or building plots are affordable. In the final stage, a purpose-built structure is planned and possibly even built, preferably in a more central location; the last step is notoriously difficult to execute and numerous projects have failed over the years.

This process is well-illustrated by Jennifer Mack’s (2017) study of Södertälje in Sweden, a small town with 75,000 inhabitants close to Stockholm. Here she demonstrates the importance of churches and buildings for religious celebrations to the Middle Eastern Christian immigrants in the town. Even though they have settled in a country in which their religion, on a general level, coincides with that of the established majority, there was a strong desire among them to have their own premises. To start with, at the end of the 1960s, they borrowed or rented churches from the Church of Sweden, but in 1981 the construction of a large, purpose-built church was initiated, inaugurated in 1983 as the first Syriac Orthodox church in Europe, with the capacity for almost 1000 worshippers. The architect hired was not familiar with Syriac Orthodox traditions, and from the outside there were few signs it was a church, so, two years later, the congregation applied for a permit to build a bell tower, only to be used during the daytime, giving rise to numerous negative public reactions resembling the protests against the construction of minarets in Europe. Yet the bell tower was realised and, further, the first church that they had borrowed was also bought by the Syriac Orthodox congregation. Today the elderly in the congregation mostly use this one because it is situated close to where they live, whereas the newer church is situated further away. In 2020, almost forty years after the inauguration of their first purpose-built church, the Syriac Orthodox Church in Södertälje owns four – two purpose-built and two reconstructed – and we find, in total, thirteen purpose-built and about fifteen reconstructed Syriac Orthodox churches in Sweden.

Another way of establishing space for religious collective practices is the common phenomenon of ‘the pop-up mosque’, a term coined by Petersen (2020) to capture how enthusiasts temporarily turn whatever facility is available into a mosque space, transporting the transformative materiality of the ‘mosque’ in bags. In this context, the notion of ‘mosque’ refers more to an idea of a community than an actual building and is well worth exploring in relation to religions other than Islam. The formation of ‘pop-up religious spaces’ is typical of enthusiastic groups with lots of drive but few resources, not least new, liberally minded associations (for example LBGTQIA+ groups), youth organisations and newly arrived migrants committed to celebrating an important holiday together.

A common scenario in the initial phase of the establishment of religious organisations is that of a few passionate enthusiasts spending substantial amounts of time and money planning, administrating and searching for funding, thus performing an important service for the community. However, if they are successful, few let go and they remain entrenched in the hierarchy. In the long run this may not be ideal as organisations need to develop, meet new challenges and handle generation shifts. Another risk, or possibility, is that the organisation – if successful – will be targeted for ‘hostile takeover’ by economically or socially stronger groups, a sponsor or by groups of a different theological leaning. Therefore, when migrants are building religious structures and making space, researchers need to investigate the politics of the groups in question to understand change, motives and individual and group tactics in the ongoing struggle for control over resources and institutions.

3.2 The Processes of Space Making and the Emotions Involved

Making space for the presence of religious organisations, buildings and manifestations – visually and audibly – invites emotions: feelings of pride, authenticity, rootedness, achievement, nostalgia, sacredness and possibly boredom, angst, forced compliance and alienation, making them interesting places to study.

Frequently, religious organisations are rather invisible in their initial phases, typically consisting of the name of an organisation by a doorbell in a suburb or industrial area; however, as being visible and being accepted are closely related, many strive for wider recognition. One way is through space making. Religious organisations may book public places or ask permission for a procession and, if successful, may gain recognition for this. In London in the 2020s, most people know when it is Diwali (the festival of light in November), as the Hindu festival is celebrated with spectacular fireworks. Some parks are turned into Hindu festival areas blaring bhangra music classics. Similarly, ‘Eid in the Square’ is a yearly Muslim celebration in Trafalgar Square, London, taking place the first Saturday after Id al-fitr. On the surface, it is yet another celebration, with music, food stands and crowds, but, if attentive, a visitor will find Muslim charity organisations and books on Islam, and may note that among the musical acts are Qawwali artists playing pieces from the famous Pakistani Sufi music genre. The important thing is that both celebrations make space or, more precisely, allow the religious groups to define space on their own terms, albeit temporarily.

It is easier to make space when supported by the likeminded. Thus, many new migrants turn to religious organisations already established by migrants from their own faith, ethnic or language group for initial support. It is likely that this will come in different forms: economic aid, contacts, comfort, legal advice, emotional support and friendliness, in a situation that might not otherwise be supportive or patient enough with challenges such as language shortcomings. Through this, the religious organisation will become a home away from home.

For example, in a study of Egyptian, Iraqi and Assyrian Christians in Denmark, Sara Lei Sparre and Lise Paulsen Galal (2018) explicate how retaining religious practices helps these immigrants to come close to fellow immigrants and to a pre-migration ‘homeland’. The religious services do not only serve as practices that bring them closer to God, but also function to bring members of the religious diaspora group closer together and to reconnect them with the ‘homeland’. Since very few of the congregations have their own church buildings, they must adapt to shape this sense of ‘homeland’. To celebrate liturgy in these borrowed churches, the community needs to transform a Protestant setting into an Eastern Orthodox, using methods like the pop-up mosques mentioned above. There is a lot of effort put into this but also into fundraising and planning to build or buy churches of their own that resemble those from the homeland as much as possible. This reflects the process of shaping ‘a sensory bombardment of sounds, smells and sights’ (p.11), as ‘the church space has the power to awaken a sensorial experience’ (p. 11) of attending a church in the former homeland. Through this, participants in the rituals can attend church services as if they were in their former homelands, meaning that they can be in both the new homeland and the former one simultaneously (Sparre & Galal Paulsen, 2018).

While the migrant generations seek to recreate familiar space that reflects the former homeland, a younger generation growing up in the new country might perceive this differently; indeed, Otterbeck (2010a, 2015) found that the nostalgia of the migrant generations was counterproductive in attracting youth. For example, the aesthetics, the archaic language in preaching and the insistence on gender segregation rather hindered participation. Instead, it was other activities like Qur’an schools, open discussions and playing football in the mosque grounds that appealed.

When religious organisations take form in the new country, they do so in state territories with specific laws and bureaucratic traditions. We devote Chap. 4 to situations that occur in connection with that.

3.3 Support and Conflict

In Europe, many migrants, both Christian non-Christian, have experienced support offered by local churches or other established religious organisations. Numerous religious NGOs and organisations provide aid, services and emotional, legal and economic support to migrants, on an individual as well as organisational level (e.g., Straut-Eppsteiner & Hagan, 2016). This can take the form of already established charity work and assistance from interfaith groups, although many of the latter have only been initiated during the twenty-first century as a direct response to contemporary migration (for more on interfaith groups see Sect. 4.3.2.3 and, on charity, Sect. 5.5). An example from the Swedish context is the Muslim Swedish Ibn Rushd Study Association, which started as part of the educational association Sensus, one of the largest in Sweden and strongly anchored in Christian tradition. Sensus allowed Ibn Rushd to grow and consolidate itself and it now operates independently while retaining working relations with Sensus. The Muslim Scouts, the Syriac Orthodox Scouts and the Muslim sobriety movement of Sweden have similar tales to tell (Otterbeck, 2010b). Another example of cooperation from Sweden is the long-term assistance offered by the Jewish congregation in Malmö in male circumcisions among Muslims (Nordin & Schölin, 2011).

We are not familiar with any European research drawing theoretical conclusions from the above. Yet, based on North American research (e.g., Kivisto, 2014; Stepick et al., 2009), it is fair to assume that a lack of social capital is a barrier to becoming part of a new society – many people experience downward social mobility when migrating – and that positive and creative relations with already established citizens, organisations and fellow migrants are likely to be extremely valuable for language development, networking, job opportunities, help when contacting authorities and so on. It also gives both the established and the newcomers a chance to acquire first-hand knowledge about the cultural habits and conventions of the other.

Of course, not everyone is pleased. The physical presence of minority religions associated with migration also causes negative reaction in the established populations of Europe. Buildings seem to be obvious targets for hate crimes and those owned by religious organisations started by migrants are frequently vandalised or even torched in the cloak of darkness. This is especially true of mosques and synagogues, but at times the churches of Christian minorities also suffer the same fate.

Further, and not to be ignored, is that many conflicts have translocal manifestations. The tension between Sunni and Shia Muslims in the Middle East during the reign of the Islamic State was reflected in attacks against each other in European environments, while the sectarian aspects of the Syrian war were also duplicated in Europe. Meanwhile, the Israeli–Palestinian / Islam–Judaism tension increases antisemitism and feeds Islamophobic voices, seen, for example, in how Christian minorities from the Middle East refuse to cooperate in interfaith groups if Muslims from the Middle East are part of the meetings. At times, different Muslim groups from different parts of the Middle East will not accept each other either (e.g., Nordin, 2017, see also Karner & Parker, 2008).

4 Transnational Spaces and Global Movements

Remarkable changes have taken place since WWII in the technological capacity to communicate and do business over long distances. Then it was possible, but expensive and difficult; now it is easy and affordable, even for many quite poor people in the Global South. The mobile telephone call to loved ones announcing the successful arrival of a migrant who has attempted a journey is a priority. Communication techniques have also affected the theorisation of migration and religion. Before the 1990s, international migration effectively meant that many long-distance migrants lost contact with former environments despite letters with photos sent and expensive phone calls made. People who travelled were tasked with the transfer of money, photographs, documents, gossip and news. Because of distances that were difficult to bridge, migration research in effect concentrated on the present context of the migrants and prioritised studying them as part of a new state.

Since the 1990s much has changed. Social media apps have increased the possibility of maintaining contact with family, relatives, friends and co-religionists. Until the global Covid-19 pandemic crisis that started 2020, mobility steadily increased and airfares kept being reduced. Travelling religious specialists could make short visits and migrants could visit larger religious festivities in former home countries (if not at odds with the government). Admittedly, the possibility of international travel was and is still conditioned by citizenship or lack thereof. Further, satellite TV channels and the ever-expanding usefulness of the internet have vastly facilitated access to religious information, founding texts, religious preachers and religious music and artists. This has made migration researchers more aware that transnational and translocal relations needed to be investigated, rethought and theorised. It also challenges and blurs the notion of divisions in power practices in space making between tactics or ‘bottom-up actions’, and strategies or ‘top-down actions’.

4.1 Transnational Spaces and Social Remittances

According to Thomas Faist (2004), international migration research started to include transnational migration in the early 1990s, resulting in the development of sophisticated theories about it. One of the researchers to gain fame for her studies on transnational spaces and religion was US researcher Peggy Levitt (1998, 1999, 2001), who demonstrated just how intertwined migrants may remain with the social environment they have ‘left’. She minted the concept ‘social remittances’ – which supplements the concept of ‘economic remittances’ – focusing on religious ideas, values, behaviour and practices that migrants, with or without intending to, pick up in a new country and remit to their former home environment. Levitt showed how religious change in the new country also affected religious ideas and practices among relatives and close friends in the country of origin. In other words, through letters, goods and also new techniques in communication, a sense of community was maintained that formed a ‘transnational village’; thus, socialisation processes – those never-ending processes of becoming and remaining part of different social structures by gaining (often tacit) knowledge about normality – took on a new configuration for the community.

Otterbeck (2010a) gives examples of how teenage cousins growing up in different countries exchange stories about their sibling parents’ ways of raising them, knowledge that can be used in future negotiations about what the teenagers should be allowed to do. In this case, it worked both ways, according to the interviewed teenagers living in Scandinavia – at times they experienced stricter rules than their cousins in their parents’ former home countries. Another example of transnational social remittances, but on a more political level, is the Irrecha thanksgiving ritual among the Oromo group from Ethiopia. For various reasons it had lost significance somewhat in Ethiopia but started to be observed more regularly in the global diaspora, connecting it to the heartland heritage and empowering the ethno-religious group abroad; its reappearance in the diaspora also functioned to challenge and mobilise resistance to the political suppression of the group in Ethiopia (Regassa & Zeleke, 2014).

Thus, migration researchers should consider multi-layered contexts, applying, for example, network analysis to track people’s social field(s). Pnina Werbner (2003) has studied a regional cult celebrating the Sufi Saint Zindapir (d. 1999) in north-western Pakistan and its ties, social structures and relations in, not least, Manchester and Birmingham, UK. Werbner concentrates on how ‘Sufism is performative and embodied in ritual practice’ (p. 29), demonstrated in the public religious processions the Sufi group arranged in Manchester. This space making in the new environment gained authenticity and prompted engagement in the form of blessings and objects sent from the centre of the regional cult. This in turn engendered continuous communication and travel, primarily by the appointed representatives of Zindapir, but UK migrants returning to Pakistan, sometimes with newly acquired wealth and status, also tied together the different regions in transnational relations. Further, followers experienced that Zindapir himself communicated through everyday miracles and dreams regardless of where they were; it is expected of Sufi sheikhs to be able to transcend time and space.

The transnational experience often involves either circular migration or setting up two homes. Emigrants may have the right to buy and own property in former home countries and many have dual (or more) citizenship, which helps, and local contacts who facilitate affairs. The dream of return among migrants, not least refugees, is kept alive by many. It is well-attested that Palestinians who left their homes when Israel was founded have held onto their front door keys (e.g., Sa’di & Abu-Lughud, 2007). In other cases, the connection is less concrete or is symbolised by an investment in property or the building (or maintenance) of religious buildings. Further, being buried in the village or city of origin is of great importance to many, even to those who otherwise lead lives little concerned with religion. Such dreams of return, expressed through what Bolognani and Erdal (2017) call ‘return imaginaries’, are a realistic alternative for some; for others they are not, due to numerous factors such as financial position, political risks, statelessness or, increasingly, the environment. Yet another reason that hinders return is belonging to a religious group outlawed or under state suspicion in the former homeland.

Some have suggested that integration can be contrasted with transnational ties and investments, something that Erdal (2013) efficiently challenges. Her conclusion is that ‘state integrationism’ – state programmes for integration – might feel threatened by the implications of transnationalism, but that citizenship(s) and identities need to be understood on an individual level. Her material exemplifies the research and experiences of many others, showcasing how individuals can actively participate in numerous contexts, making space in all. Her reasoning also applies to those who are engaged in transnational and global religious movements.

4.2 Global Religious Movements

Not all new religious movements and organisations stem from local initiatives on the part of recently arrived migrants; some are transnational or even global. The expansion of missionary movements (discussed further in Sect. 3.5.2) as a result of conscious strategies is a recurrent part of international migration. Christian Pentecostal movements, Islamic or new age Sufi movements, Jewish Chasidic movements, the Hindutva movement, Theravada Buddhism, all have made efforts to gain influence by a combination of recruiting people from co-religionists and outside (although not extensively in the Chasidic tradition).

Transnational state-driven organisations also promote their religious interpretations outside the state’s territory. Saudi Arabia, for example, promotes Wahhabi Salafism by inviting European Muslims to study free of charge in Saudi Arabia, and by sending out representatives who lecture in Europe or offer – usually conditional – economic support for projects among Sunni Muslims in Europe. The Saudis also support several multi-language webpages that advertise and advise on their interpretation. Similarly, the Turkish and Moroccan states actively pursue relations with emigrant Muslims living in European states. In a country like Germany with an established Muslim population, Diyanet – the Turkish Presidency of Religious Affairs – organises by far the largest number of mosques (Nielsen & Otterbeck, 2016).

The Catholic and Protestant Churches, including the Anglican Church, must also be included in these global religious movements. Global processes and immigration now challenge Europe, the former heartland of such initiatives. Instead, previously colonised countries have formed new Christian heartlands and developed influential power centres over the last decades. As Kevin Ward states in his book on global Anglicanism, ‘the way in which the black and Asian voice is esteemed, and its presence is incorporated in the life of the Church of England remains one of the most important themes for the future of Christianity in a multi-racial, secular society’ (Ward, 2006: 44).

All these movements use the latest technology to broadcast their ideas. They employ media-savvy communicators and aim to influence by ideas spread through personal contact. Some of them produce popular culture, arrange sophisticated higher education or dialogues in Europe, making them interesting examples of transnational or global movements of a different sort than often is studied in social movement studies or studies of interest organisations.

5 Religious Services: A Crossroad of Individual and Community Tactics and Space Making

As mentioned above, the first substantial migration of followers of a particular religion requires institutionalisation in the sociological sense. Holiday rituals require or imply collective gatherings. Which space can be claimed? What can be afforded? Is there a social cost or risk to making yourself visible? These questions are important when understanding changes and processes connected to migration and religion. As seen in Chap. 2, in the US during the 1990s, there was a tendency for immigrant religious communities to adopt the US Christian form of congregations in organisational structure but also in rituals (e.g., Ebaugh, 2010; Ebaugh & Chafetz, 2000, 2002; Warner & Wittner, 1998). There are probably also changes in religious services among migrants in western European countries as these have been dominated by Christian (Protestant, Catholic and Byzantine Orthodox) churches for centuries, just as in the US case. Churches have set the scene for the institutionalisation of religion in society: which days are holidays, how and when to have religious gatherings, how religion should be taught at school, how health and criminal care are expedited and so forth. Newcomers have either adapted to this setting, changed it through political activism, chosen not to adapt or simply failed to initiate change in the short term. However, as the contemporary European religious scene is very complex and the establishment of immigrant religious organisations has been going on for a long time, it is difficult to claim any truly general patterns in these processes of adaptation.

If we investigate these processes from an individual level, we can see both an increase and decrease in religious participation among immigrants in Europe. This depends on a very wide range of factors including the countries of immigration and emigration, religion, age, gender, cohort, generation, time spent in the new home country, degree of establishment of the immigrant, the religious organisations in the new home country and reasons for emigration, among others (e.g., Van Tubergen, 2013; Van Tubergen & Sindradottir, 2011; Fleischmann & Phalet, 2012; Maliepaard et al., 2009; Crockett & Voas, 2006). In other words, there is, among immigrants, an abundance of manifest and latent reasons to change – or retain – their level of participation in religious gatherings.

The reactions from religious communities to such changes in participation among their (potential) adherents present the same complexity. For example, both changes and permanence in religious services depend on opportunities and work: are people willing to launch, arrange and maintain services? Further, we must keep in mind that religious participation cannot merely be understood as an ‘economic’ transaction depending on demand and supply (although there is admittedly some merit to this equation); there is more involved, such as theological considerations about the past, present and future of the religion, community, organisation or group. However, the starting point for these processes of change is likely to be found in changes in the immigrants’ everyday realities as well as in religious services.

Religious organisations set up by immigrants have many challenges to overcome during the phase of establishment. In later phases, adaptation to keep and embrace more believers comes into greater focus, giving rise to questions such as which language to use during services (e.g., Armbruster, 2013: 68–89; Nordin, 2007) or which traditions to uphold (e.g., Sideri, 2017). In the following sections we discuss three quite different examples of religious service dynamics in response to being an immigrant or diasporic community, showing various tactics and to some extent strategies in space making.

5.1 Black Christian Communities in the UK and Congregational Services

In the post-war period there was an increase of immigrants from the Caribbean and West Africa to the UK, many of whom identified as Christian and black. Coming to Britain also meant joining the ‘mother church’ – Anglican, Methodist, Presbyterian or Baptist – to which they belonged in their countries of origin. To the disappointment of many, they felt unwelcome in these UK congregations and unable to escape feeling like intruders and strangers, something even voiced by some of the priests officiating. Racism was definitely an issue. But they also experienced congregations which they perceived to consist of members merely attending out of a sense of duty, leading to services without the enthusiasm and excitement expected by the immigrants.

Did this lead to changes in services? Yes and no. There were few changes in the established churches due to the newcomers, probably due to an unwillingness among the empowered in the congregations (members and leadership) to adapt to the new situation. Instead, successively, these immigrants created space in congregations they established themselves, many of them Pentecostal. Here they could feel more at home and at ease, find refuge, create a sense of cultural identity and be empowered. At the beginning of 1990s, over 150 Christian churches in the UK were upheld by African and Afro-Caribbean adherents. In fact, most churchgoers with this background belonged to these churches (Kalilombe, 1997).

5.2 Language Groups Within Migrant Communities in Sweden

The second example concerns Sweden, immigrants from Latin America and so-called language groups within Pentecostal, Catholic and Jehovah’s Witnesses congregations. Instituting language groups is a common established church strategy which makes space in religious congregations in countries of settlement, offering religious services in the immigrants’ mother tongue and providing opportunities for them to gather with people from the same ethnic or national background. As with the African and Afro-Caribbean churches in the UK, these groups can function as somewhere to feel at home, a refuge and a place of empowerment. The latter was shown in services pinpointing that there were theological reasons for their migration, one of which was the possibility of joining this group and evangelising in their new home country. Being part of smaller and more intimate religious services in these groups also shaped a strong sense of belonging: services were held in Spanish and in a more Latin American style; instead of the organ, guitars were played during mass in the Catholic Latin American language group. However, space making through language groups and styles was not without problems. For the second generation, religious services in Spanish were not always desirable because they did not fully understand them; thus, they tended to be divisive for the congregations, and different tactics to solve these problems were at play. However, as groups with small resources and circumscribed possibilities to influence congregations and churches, this was a challenging task (Nordin, 2007).

5.3 Religious Services in Tamil Hindu Temples in Switzerland

The third example of space making and tactics related to religious services comes from Tamil Hindu temples in Switzerland (M. Baumann, 2010). For Tamil Hindus, religious practices consist to a large extent of either individual worship at home or in temples. However, various forms of religious services offering the possibility to worship, share meals and celebrate festivals, marriages and other rites of passage are on hand in Swiss Tamil Hindu temples. Refugees, particularly from Sri Lanka, established eighteen temples in Switzerland over a period of thirty years, starting in the 1980s, which have become the main Tamil Hindu locations for religious practice in the country, largely replacing private rituals. The function of the rituals in the temples is to cultivate a sense of national and cultural belonging difficult to find elsewhere in Switzerland. Because of the sparse access to temples for the Tamil Hindus, caste separation is not practiced during worship in the temples and at meals, and the temples also offer services such as cultural events and libraries, both for Tamil Hindus and others. The tactics for space making in this case have been to offer a place for group worship and meetings, while religious services offer a place for religious, cultural and national gatherings. Changes in these services have, it seems, both been deliberate, for example having libraries, and occasional, as in meeting across castes (Baumann, 2010).

6 Concluding Remarks

This chapter has stressed the agency of migrants in their relations with their new societies and to religion. By first examining the micro level of individuals, and then the meso level, accentuating the establishing and administration of religious organisations, we aimed to make visible the many potential factors to be negotiated without losing sight of the people behind them. Researching migration and religion requires knowledge of the field and the ability to establish precisely what the field is, which is much more complicated today with modern communication techniques and global and transnational religious movements. It also requires the researcher to pay attention to what the migrants themselves consider important to their migration and mobility. Making space for a new religion, not least from an unprivileged position, is hard work. Establishment histories are fascinating tales of tactics, enthusiasm, conflicts and bone-headedness but also of failure, success, pride and religious commitment. Religion is important, not always, but surprisingly often, in one way or another.