Am I the only one asking this?

 

Why are churches burning in France? Why do so few people talk about it? I see articles, fleeting images, alarming statistics… and yet the silence is deafening. Have we grown used to watching our heritage go up in smoke? Have we forgotten what these places truly represent?

 

Is it really that frequent?

 

Yes. Far too frequent. Every year, dozens of churches are set on fire, vandalized, desecrated. Some by accident, others deliberately. In 2024 alone, more than 50 fires were recorded in places of worship across France. And it’s not just small, isolated chapels — sometimes it’s listed monuments, landmarks of memory.

 

And Notre-Dame de Paris…

 

I remember it like it was yesterday. April 15, 2019. The sky over Paris turned orange, flames devoured the roof, the spire collapsed. I was devastated. Not just because it was Notre-Dame, but because it was a symbol falling. They said it was an accident linked to renovation work. Maybe. But what struck me most was the fragility. Even the greatest monuments can vanish in just a few hours.

 

And here in Vendée, what do we experience?

 

I’m from Vendée. And I know that here, churches are not just buildings. They are places of resistance, witnesses of faith, landmarks in the landscape. We haven’t had a spectacular fire like in Paris, but we’ve seen broken statues, graffiti on walls, thefts from sacristies. In Fontenay-le-Comte, Pouzauges, Les Herbiers… These are silent wounds. And often, no one talks about them.

 

Does it make me angry?

 

Yes. Because I see people outraged by graffiti on public walls, but not by torn-down crosses or desecrated altars. Because I see budgets for roundabouts, but not for restoring a 19th-century church crumbling into ruin. Because I feel our memory is fading — slowly, quietly.

 

So what can I do?

 

I can speak. Write. Bear witness. I can document these places, alert local officials, support restoration efforts. I can refuse indifference. Because every steeple, every stone, every stained glass window is a part of us.

I’m not a historian, nor a journalist. I’m just someone who loves churches, villages, and sacred silences. And I refuse to watch them disappear without saying a word.

 Testimonies  Voices from France, Between Pain and Commitment

 

Camille, 27, art history student in Nantes

"I’m writing my thesis on neo-Gothic churches in western France. When I saw that the one in Saint-Hilaire-de-Riez had been vandalized, I felt a pang in my heart. It’s not just an architectural loss — it’s a loss of meaning."

 

Abdou, 22, apprentice carpenter in La Roche-sur-Yon

"I’m working on restoring woodwork in a church. It’s hard work, but it’s beautiful. When you see people burning it down, you wonder what they’re trying to destroy — the wood or the memory?"

 

Father Jean, parish priest in Luçon

"It’s not the first time we’ve found overturned candles or forced doors. We don’t shout scandal — we repair, we pray, we carry on. That’s faith: holding firm, even when the world shakes."

 

Léa, 16, high school student in Challans

"I don’t go to mass, but I like sitting in the church when it’s empty. It’s quiet, it calms me. If it ever burned down, I think I’d feel a little orphaned."

 

Mr. Lemoine, mayor of a small village in Vendée

"We had to vote an emergency budget to repair the bell tower after an act of vandalism. It’s not just an expense — it’s a duty. These places are the heart of our communities."

 

Nadia, 39, stained glass restorer in Angers

"Every stained glass window I restore tells a story. When I see one shattered, it’s like tearing out a page from a book we’ll never read again."