Deconsecrated churches are often abandoned, but some are reimagined into pubs, nightclubs, homes

This is a tale of faith, perseverance and tragedy — but also, rebirth. 

As the Victorian town of Tarnagulla boomed during the mid-19th century gold rush, the Wesleyan Methodist community toiled to build a magnificent church.

But the rush ended, the congregation moved on and, in the mid-1970s, this once-hallowed space ceased being a place of worship.

In the year 2000, the disused church was gutted by fire.

The building's fate was all the more tragic for the death of brave CFA firefighter John Sharman, who collapsed while fighting the blaze that destroyed it.

Now, all that remains is a shell.

These days, the Tarnagulla Wesleyan-Methodist Church remains a beautiful if eerie place, popular with photographers who respect that it is now on private property, according to amateur historian Terri-Lee Campion.

It's just one of thousands of buildings across the country that were once the spiritual hub of a community.

Some are now used for purposes never dreamed of by their original builders.

But others are abandoned relics.

The 'Australian faith story' 

The National Church Life Survey found about 1,200 churches had closed since 1991.

Australian Catholic University historian Darius von Guttner estimated 20 per cent of all Roman Catholic churches — once full to the foyer in the early 20th century — were no longer used for religious services.

He said it was hard to know for certain, as many were never formally sanctioned by religious authorities.

"There was the stereotypical Australian faith story where people worshipped in places not officially sanctioned as churches, where they found security of a shared location," Professor von Guttner said.

In the regional city of Ballarat, many faiths have lost churches in recent years.

The Neil Street Uniting Church just wound up after 162 years, joining three other Uniting churches that had shut in and around the district.

Anglican churches have also closed, although Ballarat diocese Bishop Gary Weatherall said it was church policy in Australia to stay open wherever possible, even in towns with declining populations.

"As a strategic decision, we've decided we'd try to keep churches open as long as we can," Bishop Weatherall said.

"Often in little dusty country towns — like in South Australia's mid-north — where there were big Catholic and Uniting populations, we were the last man standing.

"In one town, the Catholic congregation stopped, the Lutheran congregation stopped, and the Uniting congregation stopped.

"Churchgoers in the town came to us, which was funny because we were one of the smallest churches in that area.

Closing the doors

Despite the bravest efforts to soldier on, sometimes a congregation must face the inevitable.

And just as there is often a formal process to establish a place of worship, there are solemn rituals to "deconsecrate" a church.

Bishop Weatherall said he had performed the rituals — and it was almost never easy.

"I'd say it's probably one of the worst jobs I have," he said.

"The reality is rural populations were much bigger than they are now, and little local churches were common and well used — they're just not now.

Bishop Weatherall said the decision to close was rarely imposed from above.

"The initial request for the closure of a church comes from the people who are left who decide they no longer wish to operate their church," he said.

"If we get to that point, I have to agree, and we then begin a process that leads to the deconsecration of the church."

In the Anglican faith, once a closure is approved by the General Synod, which governs the church in Australia, artefacts such as Holy Communion silverware, war memorial plaques, and stained windows are removed and re-housed.

"The deconsecration is a simple service, but it's quite solemn," Bishop Weatherall said.

"The declaration of the deconsecration is read and formalised with a document. It finishes with something like 'I remit this building for any legal purpose'.

Where are they now?

Many ghost towns are home to the deserted remains of churches.

But a lonely, forgotten existence is not the fate of all of all deconsecrated churches.

The former Baptist Church on Dawson Street in Ballarat was transformed into a nightclub called The Power Station, before becoming an abandoned hall, and finally, a grand home.

It's multi-million-dollar renovation and resurrection took three years.

It was a similar, if more modest, tale for a 1934 Methodist church in the South Australian town of Paruna, for which the new owner paid a mere $55,000.

Across Australia, other church conversions include an Irish-themed pub at South Yarra in Victoria; a winery cellar door at Sellicks Beach in South Australia and an art gallery in Mosman, NSW.

At Hill End, NSW, a church has been converted to a cultural centre, with another in the state transformed into a theatre at Darlinghurst.

In and around Sydney, a former Anglican church in Glenbrook and St Columbkille's Catholic church in Broadwater were both converted to cafes, although both have now closed.

An architectural afterlife

Churches that aren't repurposed are not always completely forgotten.

Even the abandoned ones attract a community of explorers, historians and photographers.

Photographer Greg Davis said the long-forgotten buildings held a certain appeal for shutterbugs.

"I think it's the architecture," he said.

"There are many different styles but there's always an underlying theme, no matter the denomination: steep-pitched roofs, gothic-shaped windows.

He said he would "get a sense of reverence" if the buildings retained some of their church fittings, such as altars.

"Some years ago, I was up in Queensland at a place called Cracow, [where] there was this little Catholic church and the doors were open," he said.

"It was abandoned with cobwebs, but it still had the pews, this little chair for the priest, and a plastic bottle handwritten with 'holy water'. It does make your mind wander."