It used to be that my explorations were rooted in the crumbling giants of manufacturing, relics of our health obsessions, and the skeletons of a cash-starved education system. The causes of these industries’ failures were varied but rooted deeply within the economic stability of their communities. The tumbledown effect of the many different recessions could be seen in many of the rust belt cities that struggled to keep a foothold in this new century – industries shut down, schools closed, hospitals funding vanished, and homes were shuttered.

In these neighbourhoods, churches used to be not only a centre for spirituality, but a place for coming together of the community within times of crisis. With community strength and faith, there seemed to always be a surge of hope – for a better tomorrow, for a better life, and for things to turn around. The church also served as a community centre where youth could gather and find a way to keep themselves occupied for a while. “Socials” brought families, friends, and neighbours together in a positive and supportive atmosphere. You knew that you could get a helping hand with your troubles from your church brethren, and you would be there for them when they were in need.

Today, many of these churches are forgotten and decaying, their once lively congregations gone and the pews sitting empty. Sometimes the congregation gets older and new members don’t join the church, making for dwindling numbers – without the members, there’s just no money for the upkeep and these churches integrate with ones nearby to save on costs and close their doors forever. Other times, the neighbourhood suffers too much from these financial times and, when the people lose their jobs and homes they leave, and the church cannot be maintained.

Today, I find myself photographing more and more decaying houses of worship. I am always in awe when I enter these forgotten churches. Their maker’s mark is evident in the soaring ceilings, the delicate arches, and the fine details in the ornamentation on the pillars. Some may look upon these as decrepit relics of an abandoned faith, but I see them as architectural marvels, even in their deconstructed state. If I’m lucky enough, somewhere their plaster skin will have withered away exposing their hardwood skeleton, allowing me to wonder at the sheer artistry involved in the construction of such a majestic structure. I find churches cross the fine line from architecture into art as it takes a passion and skill to create something so powerful and inspirational yet so delicate at the same time. Very few modern architects move me this way, except perhaps Frank Gehry.

At one church, I was approached by an elderly man who used to be a member of the congregation and cleaned the pews after services. He noticed that I had a camera and was taking photos so he wasn’t worried about me being there as I wasn’t going to hurt his church. He told me that he would come by and make sure that vandals and looters didn’t come in to steal anything – even though the church was closed up for so long. He felt it was his duty to keep it safe, and often times he would come in to pray in the solitude. He hoped the photos would help shed some light on the church’s condition and maybe save it from further decay.

Not everyone sees these structures in this light and find them a treasure chest of relics for looting and resale. So many are ripped apart in a way that prohibits them from being restored or reused. Churches are such strong structures, it takes just a little imagination to reuse them in a way that would add to the community – whether it be housing, shops, or a community centre.