It is afternoon in the summer, and the nave of the Sagrada Família is saturated with warm colors. Shafts of amber and crimson sweep across the stone floor, shift as a cloud passes over Barcelona, then deepen again. Around you, visitors slow without quite realizing it. Some raise their phones — not to capture the architecture, but to step into the light itself, positioning themselves in a pool of orange or gold as if the colours were something you could wear.
They are, without knowing it, doing exactly what Gaudí intended: surrendering, however briefly, to the sensation of being bathed in something larger than themselves.
The conversion of disused religious temples through cultural programs constitutes one of the most compelling adaptive reuse strategies in contemporary urban planning. This functional compatibility seems to be rooted in the specific characteristics of churches: their central naves offer large-scale, clear floor plans and monumental cross-sections that easily accommodate the volumetric requirements of museums, theaters, or community hubs. Furthermore, the acoustic properties inherent to their vaulted ceilings, combined with intentional natural lighting filtered through stained glass windows or domes, create the spatial conditions for activities ranging from the performing arts to the exhibition of cultural artifacts. By assuming a public and cultural role, these buildings not only avoid demolition or physical abandonment but also preserve their status as urban and identity landmarks within the city fabric, revitalizing their immediate surroundings without altering their historical significance.
The final piece of the central tower of Barcelona's Sagrada Familia has been laid in place, bringing the church to its maximum height of 172.5 m. La Sagrada Familia, one of architectural history's most notorious unfinished buildings, became Antoni Gaudí's defining project in 1883, when he transformed a neo-Gothic design into one of the best-known structures of Catalan Modernisme. One hundred and forty-four years after construction began, the upper section of the 17-meter-high, four-sided steel and glass cross was winched into position at 11 a.m. on Friday, February 20, completing the tower dedicated to Jesus Christ. This milestone confirms the project's final stage of construction, which, back in March 2024, was announced as one of the most anticipated completions of 2026, commemorating the centenary of Antoni Gaudí's death.
Between September 25 and October 5, 2025, the XXIII Chilean Architecture and Urbanism Biennial took place in Santiago. Under the title "DOUBLE EXPOSURE: (re)program · (re)adapt · (re)construct," the event was organized around the idea of "understanding architecture not as the production of the new, but as the ability to reactivate what already exists." Based on this premise, the curatorial team, composed of Ángela Carvajal and Sebastián López (Anagramma Arquitectes) together with Óscar Aceves, conceived a circuit of eight venues located in downtown Santiago. Their goal was to revive and reclaim urban spaces through a series of free public activities that drew around 70,000 visitors. Among the reactivated sites, the ruins of the San Francisco de Borja Church stood out. Burned during the social outburst of October 2019, the site hosted a temporary pavilion that served as a venue for talks, readings, art installations, discussions, and community events.
As cities and communities adapt to new cultural, environmental, and social realities, architecture is taking on an expanded role in shaping spaces of resilience, gathering, and imagination. This edition of Architecture Now highlights six recent projects that span continents and typologies, from the redevelopment of post-industrial landscapes to sacred architecture, cultural pavilions, and civic hubs. Whether through mass timber innovation in Vancouver and Jülich, adaptive reuse in Ostrava, a children's pavilion in London, a spiritual centre in India, or a parametric church in Kyiv, each project demonstrates how design can bridge heritage and innovation while fostering connection, care, and community.
Between August 19 and 20, 2025, thousands of spectators watched as one of Sweden's largest wooden buildings was lifted onto beams and wheeled across town. The Kiruna Church, constructed between 1909 and 1912, was designed to echo the form of a Sámi hut in Sweden's far northern region, within the Arctic Circle. The building was designed by architect Gustaf Wickman, who served as the church's architect at the time, and combines elements of Gothic Revival with an Art Nouveau altar. The building, one of the city's main tourist attractions, was moved to a new location between the cemetery and the new city center to prevent damage caused by the expansion of the local mine.
What does a change in use and/or scale in buildings imply? How can a church or chapel be transformed into a home? While the architecture of many contemporary sacred spaces shows a remarkable capacity for adaptation and evolution, the creative boundaries of many professionals extend beyond their conception as structures of spirituality or worship. Globally, the conversion of large churches and small chapels into private residences reveals a wide field for intervention and exploration, one that can preserve, restore, adapt, and/or renew the character of spaces originally conceived for other uses and scales, which for various reasons have been abandoned, become obsolete, or now require transformation.
MVRDV and Zecc Architecten have won the competition to transform the St. Francis of Assisi Church in Heerlen into a public swimming pool. Originally built over 100 years ago, the church stopped hosting services in 2023, presenting the municipality with the opportunity to repurpose the building for community use. Nicknamed Holy Water, the adaptive reuse project is meant to give this listed national monument, with its recognizable silhouette, a new social function while preserving its historic elements. The design was created through a collaboration between MVRDV, Zecc Architecten, IMd Raadgevende Ingenieurs, Nelissen Ingenieursbureau, and construction economics consultancy SkaaL, and is expected to be completed at the end of 2027.
At a global level, contemporary architecture continues to explore tools and design methodologies to integrate nature into habitable spaces, given its proven benefits and contributions to improving people's quality of life. While there are diverse religious beliefs around the world, religious architecture generally expands beyond its uses and functions to connect with the sacred. Senses, memories, and emotions are transmitted in these spaces through the use of certain materials, spatial organizations, and even sounds and aromas that enhance experiences in atmospheres of spirituality, divinity, and reflection. In Mexico, Chile, Ecuador, Brazil, and Uruguay, projects for places of worship open to the outdoors reflect an architecture that adapts to different natural environments while maintaining the premise that each religion is tied to a social identity and requires a particular connection with its community and surrounding landscape.
As a landmark of contemporary religious architecture in Portugal, the Church of the Sacred Heart of Jesus stands in contrast to traditional models, representing a work free from historicist stigmas. Resulting from a design competition organized in 1960, the church is notable for its civic dimension, urban role, and its anti-monumental and social significance. Integrated into the regular grid of the Avenidas Novas neighborhood, this example of the Movement for the Renewal of Sacred Art is part of a larger parish complex that often goes unnoticed by passersby. Its external street creates an unexpected public space, inviting people to enter and engage in a courtyard where architecture and the city merge. Finely crafted in terms of spatiality, detail, and light, the church holds many surprises for those who venture inside.
What makes something sacred? When does a building mean more to us than nearly all other places, spaces, objects, or activities in our lives? Architects strive to achieve the sacred in buildings, but it’s the rest of us who either sense it or not, whatever the aesthetics may be. I think the meaning of what is sacred to us can be most profoundly seen and felt when things change.
Religious architecture has always had a unique power to transcend the physical realm, transporting visitors to a spiritual journey. In many belief systems, it serves as a space between the earthly and the universal divine. This designed experience can often be facilitated through different choices, where light, form, materiality, and circulation play essential roles. Furthermore, architecture and design hold the power to have a profound impact on one’s lived spiritual experience.
This exploration of religious architecture in the global south showcases the integration of tradition and contemporary innovation. Whether it’s the Omani Mosque, where heritage and Islamic tradition are honored, or the Abrahamic Family House that features a mosque, a church, and a synagogue in dialogue and coexistence. Form and public access are explored through a design in Brazil, while a monastery in Uganda expands its size to serve guests and novitiate.
Whatever religion we classify ourselves as – or even if we actively renounce or denounce organized religion in all its forms – the one aspect of Christianity those in predominantly Christian countries are touched by at some point in their lives, is the classical aesthetic of church architecture.
Whether we actively attend church multiple times a week, begrudgingly once or twice a year, or once every ten years for one of life’s trinity of events: births, deaths, and marriages, while there we’re struck by the soaring arches, intricate stonework, and, on a sunny day, the spiritual beauty and colorful rainbows of light that stream through stained glass windows.
