With its light and organic structure, this church contrasts with other religious buildings in the same city.

Second stop: Ferrara, Italy.

Where the first church in this little Advent journey felt remote and almost whispered into the landscape, San Giacomo Apostolo is the opposite: it is open-armed, sociable, and wonderfully unselfconscious about being the new heart of its neighbourhood. I once arrived expecting something contemporary but what I found was a place that behaves a bit like a village square wrapped in a sculptural roof — warm, democratic and unmistakably made for people.

The parish complex, completed in 2021, sits in a district shaped by Ferrara’s deep architectural history, so its lightness comes as a gentle surprise. Tall poplars outline the plot, softening the approach and creating the feeling of entering a sheltered grove. In front of the church lies a generous plaza that works as a civic stage: children weaving around benches, neighbours pausing for a chat, and the whole frontage acting as a natural extension of the church courtyard. The building almost nudges you to step in, but never demands it — a friendly presence rather than a commanding one.

The architecture has a lovely logic to it. Two lateral paths feed into the square, meeting like outstretched arms that gather the community in. The roof undulates in sculptural waves — a reinterpretation of the vaulted lines of Romanesque and Gothic churches, but softened, modernised and shaped into a radial form. The altar becomes the true centre, with the vaults rising from it like spokes on a wheel. This circular arrangement gives the interior an intimacy I did not expect; wherever you sit, you are part of a shared centre rather than an audience staring forward in rows.

Light is the real magician here. A great circular skylight hovers above the altar, drawing daylight down in shifting, almost theatrical patterns. Throughout the day the tone changes — morning clarity, dusky warmth, the odd silver streak. It makes the place feel alive, as though time itself were participating.

There’s something touching in the details too. The exterior brickwork, with its pointed, faceted texture, nods to Ferrara’s beloved Palazzo dei Diamanti — a quiet but unmistakable thread tying the building to its city. The enormous timber beams that cross the nave were rescued from Ferrara’s old town hall during restoration works, giving the church a literal piece of local history. It’s a building that respects where it stands, not by imitation but by conversation.

Beyond the main worship space, the complex unfolds into a small constellation of rooms for the community: meeting rooms, a parish house, modest classrooms, a weekday chapel, and a separate baptistery with a seventeenth-century font standing proudly at its centre. These spaces feel purposeful but not stiff — places where teenagers might rehearse, parishioners might chat over coffee, or children might learn in spaces seamlessly linked to the heart of the church. The whole project by Miralles Tagluabue - EBMIT stretches far beyond liturgy; it is designed for everyday life.

Inside the church itself, the wooden radial vaults give the atmosphere a warmth that almost feels domestic. Curved seating arcs around the central altar, allowing the congregation to gather closely, almost like a family around a table. All the liturgical furniture — the ambo, the Virgin’s pedestal, the monstrance base — is crafted from laminated wood, combining different species into smooth, sculptural forms. There’s a tender simplicity to it, as though the materials were chosen as much for touch as for sight.

What I loved most is the building’s sense of balance: light yet grounded, modern yet rooted in place, sacred yet sincerely open to everyday life. Ferrara’s long architectural story is full of heavy brick and Renaissance geometry, and here comes a church that dares to be airy, porous and poetic — without losing the quiet dignity a sacred place needs.

San Giacomo Apostolo feels like a church that inhales and exhales with its community. It does not loom; it welcomes. It is not grandiose; it is generous. A place of worship, yes — but also a place of gathering, learning, ordinary chatter and shared moments.