Churches Burned, Vandalized, Profaned: A Memory in Peril

Am I the only one asking this question?

Why are churches burning in France? Why do so few speak about it? I see articles, fleeting images, alarming statistics and yet the silence is deafening. Have we become indifferent to our heritage going 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 burned, damaged, looted, profaned. Some by accident, others deliberately. In 2024 alone, over 50 fires were recorded in places of worship across France  compared to 38 in 2023. And it’s not just isolated chapels: sometimes it’s listed monuments, landmarks of memory.

And Notre-Dame de Paris…

I remember it as if it were 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 that fell. They spoke of an accident linked to renovation work. Perhaps. But what struck me was the fragility. Even the greatest monuments can vanish in a matter of hours.

 And here in Vendée, what do we live through?

I am Vendéenne. 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 seen a spectacular fire like in Paris, but we’ve seen broken statues, graffiti on walls, theft from sacristies. In Fontenay-le-Comte, Pouzauges, Les Herbiers… These are silent wounds. And often, no one speaks of them.

 Calvaries and roadside crosses: restored with passion, destroyed with hostility

 

And it’s not just churches. There are also calvaries, mission crosses, oratories  stones raised in fields, at crossroads, in hamlets. Markers of prayer, memory, transmission.

 

In Vendée as elsewhere, it is often volunteers, local associations, or even individual women who care for these monuments. No major funding, no media spotlight — just patient hands, faithful hearts, and a will to preserve what makes the soul of the landscape.

 

We think of associations like Mémoire et Patrimoine, Sauvegarde des Croix Rurales, or simply families who, for generations, have adorned “their” cross at the edge of a field.

 

But in the face of this devotion, there is destruction, rejection, erasure. Crosses knocked down by construction machinery, calvaries defaced, statues beheaded. Sometimes by vandalism, sometimes by deliberate hostility, sometimes by institutional neglect  as if these stones held no value, as if their presence disturbed.

And yet, they are spiritual markers, beacons of memory, places of silence and prayer.

 What is broken can be restored  but not without voice.

 

This contrast between those who restore and those who destroy is not a matter of ignorance. It reflects a societal choice: To see or to look away. To pass on or to abandon. To respect or to erase.

 Does it make me angry?

Yes. Because I see people outraged by graffiti on public walls, but not by profaned altars, torn-down crosses, shattered stained glass. Because I see budgets for roundabouts, but not for restoring a 19th-century church that’s collapsing. Because I feel our memory fading slowly, quietly.

 So what can I do?

I can speak. Write. Bear witness. I can document these places, alert elected officials, support restoration efforts. I can refuse indifference. Because every steeple, every stone, every roadside cross is part of us.

I am neither historian nor journalist. I am simply a woman who loves churches, villages, and sacred silences. And I refuse to watch them disappear without saying a word.

 Testimonies  Voices of France, between pain and commitment

Camille, 27, art history student in Nantes “I’m writing my thesis on neo-Gothic churches in the West. When I saw the one in Saint-Hilaire-de-Riez vandalized, my heart sank. It’s not just an architectural loss  it’s a loss of meaning.”

 

Aïcha, 22, apprentice woodworker in La Roche-sur-Yon “I work on restoring church woodwork. It’s hard, but it’s beautiful. When people set fire to them, you wonder what they’re trying to destroy  the wood or the memory?”

 

Sister Jeanne, nun in Luçon “It’s not the first time we’ve found overturned candles or forced doors. We don’t cry 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 love sitting in the church when it’s empty. It’s calm, it soothes me. If it burned down, I think I’d feel a little orphaned.”

Madame Lemoine, mayor of a small Vendée village “We had to vote an emergency budget to repair the steeple 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 that will never be read again.”