Profane Paradise: the living death of deconsecrated Churches. The modern world rejecting salvation amusing itself to death.
Profane Paradise: The New Life of Deconsecrated Churches
From cathedrals to clubs, from naves to skateparks: the most beautiful churches in the world that have changed skin (and sin). Here are our favorites.
Once upon a time there were polished wooden benches, solemn silences, incense that burned softly, and that reverential fear for the “good dress” of Sunday. But today, among the marbles and bas-reliefs of deconsecrated churches, Mass is no longer celebrated: people dance, dine, buy a house. The altar becomes a skatepark, a console, the naves host contemporary art performances, the confessionals are transformed into reading corners. It is the ambiguous – and irresistible – charm of sacred architecture when it is torn from its original context and re-semanticized. A mix of dissolution and beauty, between lost mysticism and new secular liturgies: those of clubbing, hospitality, culture.
Deconsecrated churches, with their frescoes, precious marbles, wide naves, bas-reliefs and Tuscan columns, have always exerted on us a fascination suspended between the sacred and the profane. That “residue of childhood” made of incense and Sunday clothes is transformed today into an almost magnetic attraction, which makes these places ideal for surprising reconversions. Places with an atmosphere steeped in history and mystery. Today, this “unexpected charm” – more dissolute than dark – has been seized upon by entrepreneurs, architects and creatives who have been able to transform sacredness into opportunities for contemporary aggregation. Below, therefore, an overview of the most fascinating transformations around the world and in Italy, with some insights into the most emblematic cases.
Milan, the (surprise) capital of the profane church
Take the Gattopardo Café, for example. A stone's throw from Corso Sempione, in what was once the church of San Giuseppe alla Pace, today a monumental chandelier with 65,000 crystals dominates. It's not a sacrilege, it's a statement.
One of the first venues to ride the trend of deconsecrated churches for nighttime use, with DJ sets and glitter-clad aperitifs.
Also in Milan, La Chiesetta in the Chinatown area serves drinks among statues of saints and vintage reliquaries, while the Trefor Café in San Donato Milanese is yet another example of how the sacred bends to the everyday.
But the most emblematic case remains San Paolo Converso, in the heart of the 5 Vie. The former baroque church, famous for its acoustics, was first a music studio, then a contemporary art exhibition space. In 2017, artist Asad Raza even staged a tennis match there – yes, with a net, rackets and balls – among Gothic statues and Tuscan columns.
See Deconsecrated Church as a plaything of international capitalism
When clubbing becomes mystical
Abroad, the phenomenon is even more deeply rooted. In Holland, the Club Paradiso in Amsterdam, opened in 1965, has become a mecca for bands like Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses and the Sex Pistols, while maintaining the original layout of the church it once was. And in Maastricht, the Book Store Dominicanen, an independent bookshop inside a 13th-century Gothic Dominican church, is among the most beautiful in the world according to the Guardian.
In Colorado, the Church Nightclub in Denver is a Gothic masterpiece with immaculate stained glass windows and a sound system that would make Berghain envious. In Dublin, The Church Bar offers typical dishes and traditional dancing among altars and organs, with an all-Irish naturalness. And Soho House couldn’t be missed, which in Stockholm has just inaugurated its new club inside a former Methodist church from 1894: 1,430 square meters of chic sacredness, with very high vaults, original columns and pictorial details. Here you work, eat, play music and sleep. More than a choir.
From Masses to fashion shows: fashion loves the naves
Not just nightlife. The fashion system also has a long love story with churches, and not always deconsecrated ones. Gucci’s Cruise 2017 collection was shown in Westminster Abbey in London, challenging Anglican rigour.
Alexander McQueen chose Christ Church Spitalfields to present his “Dante Collection”, a hymn to desecrated sacredness. And Vivienne Westwood, of course, could only respond two years later with a similar provocation.
There is something powerfully theatrical about churches, which brands capture very well: the contrast between the austerity of the interiors and the lightness (or excess) of contemporary fashion.
When the tables are not those of the altar
still, in some churches they don’t pray or toast, they skate. It’s the new cult of urban adrenaline, where the naves become slopes and the saints watch tricks and kickflips with a perplexed, or perhaps amused, look. In the Kaos Temple in Llanera, Spain, the psychedelic geometries of Okuda San Miguel transform an old chapel into a temple of urban art and skateboarding.
The ramps climb between arches and frescoes, while the light filters through the windows like a postmodern illumination.
In St. Louis, at the SK8 Liborius Social Club, the echo of the Masses has given way to the sound of wheels on concrete.
The church is gothic, the energy punk. The riders glide under stained glass windows, between a jam session and a graffiti workshop. In England, Skaterham reclaims a 19th-century military chapel and transforms it into a creative hub for young skaters: here the anointing is done with sweat, the ramps are altars, and the community is the true religion.
And then there are the churches that choose the more contemplative path, without sacrificing the spectacular: in Maastricht, the Boekhandel Dominicanen is a bookstore that seems to have come out of a Gothic dream. Very high vaults, suspended shelves, a café nestled in the transept: each book reads like a psalm, each page has the echo of a distant organ.
In Milan, the aforementioned San Paolo Converso continues to amaze: not just clubbing and vernissages, but real museum installations that fit between Tuscan columns and seventeenth-century bas-reliefs. And at the Mediateca di Santa Teresa, between the former Baroque naves, you navigate through digital archives as if on a silent pilgrimage 3.0. Here too, the sacred is not forgotten: it merges, stratifies, reactivates. And skateboarding, art, reading become new rites, new languages. Perhaps less solemn, but equally engaging.
What if I lived there?
The next step? Living in a church. And it's not science fiction. In Italy, the portal Immobiliare.it has seen a significant increase in ads related to deconsecrated churches put up for sale for residential use. In Lucca, a small church will become a villa with a swimming pool; in Florence, in the Careggi area, for 780 thousand euros you can grab a 170 square meter former chapel. In Cortina, for 550 thousand euros you can buy an entire monastery. In Volterra, a church from 850 AD is on sale for 1,650 million euros. And in Olevano sul Tusciano, a 14th-century parish is available for just 90 thousand euros.
In Australia, the 2021 census marked a Christian population below 50% for the first time, leading many parishes to close. And in Manhattan, between 2013 and 2018, the New York Times reports the reconversion or demolition of over three dozen religious buildings. In the end, it is not a question of desecrating, but of reinterpreting. The sacred, in this increasingly fluid and hybrid world, does not disappear: it changes shape. Frescoes become the backdrop for immersive exhibitions, columns welcome design, Gothic arches host nightlife. We no longer kneel, but we continue to raise our gaze. Perhaps, without realizing it, we are simply creating new forms of devotion.
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