To bricks and beyond: on the adaptive reuse of churches

Why do some buildings continue to hold meaning long after their original function has disappeared? I believe the answer does not lie in the bricks and mortar themselves. It lies in the relationship people build with a place in the way space and community continue to shape one another long after the original purpose has faded.

Churches are perhaps the clearest example of this phenomenon. Across Western Europe, declining church attendance and increasing secularisation have left many churches vacant or underused. Yet these buildings rarely disappear from the collective memory of the communities around them. To understand why, I turned to a church within my own environment, one I know well, and one that perfectly illustrates how architecture and community become inseparably intertwined. 

A Church Built on Solidarity: Sint-Albertus Church, Zwartberg

The Sint-Albertus Church in Zwartberg, Limburg, stands at the heart of the former mining region of Central Limburg. It was commissioned by the mining communities to serve the spiritual needs of what was initially a predominantly Catholic population of miners. From the outset, the church symbolised not only faith but also welfare, resilience and mutual care.

That dual significance remains visible in its architecture today. The robust dark brickwork and the composition of interconnected volumes: the nave, the tower with its baptistery, and the rectory with the caretaker’s residence, express the grandeur of a building with an important civic and institutional role. Stepping inside, however, reveals a remarkably different atmosphere. Elegant ceramic floor tiles and stained-glass windows create a calm, contemplative interior. The serene, almost neutral spatial experience invites reflection, standing in deliberate contrast to the monumental exterior. It is precisely this duality, a building that projects identity and permanence outward while offering tranquillity and introspection within, that makes a church far more than simply a religious building.

Its location reinforces this broader significance. Situated at the heart of Zwartberg, between several neighbourhoods, the church functions as a meeting point for diverse communities, not coincidentally within walking distance of both the Turkish and Italian community churches. Despite decades of technical challenges, including roof replacement and tower restoration, it continues to stand as a symbol of resilience and social cohesion. Architecture alone cannot fully explain this enduring relevance; it is the ongoing relationship between the building and its community that keeps it alive.

Two Churches, Two Communities, One Architect

 This relationship between space and community becomes even more apparent when comparing the Sint-Albertus Church with another church designed by the same architect, Henri Lacoste: the Sint-Theodardus Church in Beringen-Mijn. At first glance, the two buildings appear remarkably similar. Both are monumental brick churches characterised by soaring pointed-arch windows and stained glass. Yet a closer look reveals subtle but fundamental differences. Each church was carefully shaped by the community it was built to serve, and that relationship continues to determine how each building functions today.

The Sint-Albertus Church occupies a central position between several neighbourhoods inhabited by Italian, Turkish and former Soviet immigrant communities. Its role is that of a shared civic centre, reflected in an understated brick architecture that conveys neutrality- a building that belongs to everyone precisely because it does not strongly identify with any single group.

The Sint-Theodardus Church, by contrast, is embedded within a more clearly defined community, predominantly made up of Turkish and North African residents. Its Byzantine architectural language, together with its parish buildings and galleries, creates a stronger sense of familiarity and cultural identity. This approach continues to prove successful. During the annual September mining celebrations, activities are organised in and around the church by both Christian and Muslim communities, as well as by people without any religious affiliation.

Together, these churches demonstrate that architecture does far more than shape physical space. It also carries social and cultural meaning that continuously evolves alongside the community it serves. Understanding the identity of a church therefore requires looking beyond its material fabric and recognising the ongoing interaction between architecture and its social and cultural context.

Religious Heritage at a Crossroads

 These two churches illustrate a broader challenge that was central to the international masterclass on the adaptive reuse of religious heritage that I attended on 7 and 8 March 2024. Religious heritage finds itself at a crossroads. It is confronted by changing social dynamics, demographic shifts and evolving urban landscapes. During the masterclass, experts explored how religious buildings once occupied a dominant position within the urban fabric, rising above the city as powerful civic landmarks, and questioned what relevance that role still holds today.

One of the central themes was the changing social role of religious buildings. As identities become increasingly fluid and vulnerability replaces certainty as a defining social condition, churches are being encouraged to create spaces for human connection that extend beyond religious rituals. In doing so, they reconnect with one of their original purposes: caring for people and strengthening communities. Dialogue increasingly takes precedence over authority. Consequently, the contemporary role of religious buildings is no longer about dominating a neighbourhood or excluding those who do not belong. Instead, their value lies in fostering community engagement, inclusivity and social interaction.

Projects such as the House of Religions in Bern demonstrate how religious heritage can remain relevant through thoughtful reinterpretation. Throughout the masterclass, speakers stressed the importance of adaptive strategies that allow religious heritage to remain vibrant within increasingly diverse urban contexts. By embracing secularisation while promoting inclusion, religious institutions can continue contributing to community well-being and social cohesion, preserving their invaluable cultural significance while maintaining their role as spatial anchors within the city.

Returning to the Essence: People, Space and Community

Looking back at the question that started this reflection: why do buildings continue to matter after their original purpose has disappeared?The answer offered by both the Sint-Albertus Church and the Sint-Theodardus Church is surprisingly simple.

It is not the bricks that keep a building alive. it is the community that continually reinterprets it, generation after generation. Even when the original reason for its existence such as faith, mining, or parish life gradually fades into the background, people continue to attach meaning to the place. That is precisely why, as an architect, I prefer to begin with the relationship between people, space and community rather than viewing a building as an isolated object.

A church is never simply architecture. it embodies collective memory, solidarity and identity. That is why it remains relevant, even when its altar is no longer in use. The future of religious heritage therefore lies not merely in preserving historic buildings for their material value, but in sustaining the relationship between those places and the communities that continue to give them meaning. Ultimately, the true value of these buildings is not found in what they once were, but in what they continue to make possible.

~Ar. Kimberly Wouters

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The original version of this article was published in 2024. This is a revised and republished edition.

The masterclass was organised by the Future for Religious Heritage initiative and the University of Bologna, with the support of the European Union.