THE sight of the 672-tonne Kiruna Kyrka, a Swedish Lutheran church, beginning a two-day journey on giant trailers to its new location has attracted worldwide attention. It is being moved, with the entire Arctic town of Kiruna, to escape subsidence from an iron-ore mine. Built in 1912, the church has been voted one of the country’s best-loved buildings. “The idea from the beginning was that it would be a church that was for everyone, including the miners,” its pastor, the Revd Lena Tjarnberg, told The Times. “Everyone who lives here has a connection to it in some way.”

The “big church move”, as it has been called, is taking place in a highly secular country. In a recent article (“Towards a sustainable future for ecclesiastical heritage”), Dr Henrik Lindblad reported that the membership of the Church of Sweden — disestablished in 2000, and part of the Porvoo Communion — was falling by more than 80,000 members every year. Its 3400 buildings — their upkeep supported by the State — were “often located in places where fewer people live and are less and less in demand as places of worship”, he wrote. “In practice, many . . . are already closed for most of the year.” They could be described as “zombie churches”, well-kept by a Church “transformed from a religious community to an increasingly secular organisation managing historic ecclesiastical properties”. Dr Lindblad’s suggested solution, that the concept of “living heritage” be broadened to new or secular activities, accessible to the public and beneficial to the local communities, chimes with the current heritage climate in the UK. The 2017 Taylor review praised those churches that had become communities’ “vibrant hubs”.

Those familiar with grant applications will know how important it is to demonstrate value to the wider community. In a recent session of the Culture, Media and Sport committee inquiry into protecting built heritage, MPs were keen to hear how churches were raising revenue, “monetising” tourist interest, and marketing their services. The House of Good reports published by the National Churches Trust, on the “social value” of church buildings, are an example of the alacrity with which such demands receive a response. But it was heartening to hear the Revd Paula Griffiths speak up at the hearing for less quantifiable values. Before 2017, she said, it had been accepted that maintaining a historic church “was a good thing in itself”. A church was “a place where people can be quiet and reflect”. There is a danger, in the emphasis on churches’ economic and social value, their primary purpose is sidelined, and the message is conveyed that their having been built to the glory of God is meaningful only to a few. “It is with great reverence that we have undertaken this project,” the manager of the Kiruna church move told The Daily Telegraph. “This is not just any building — it’s a church.”