By T.M. Brown

Oct. 25, 2024, 5:01 a.m. ET

When Louis Cahill was growing up in southern Virginia, a neighbor bought an old Catholic chapel and turned it into a home, which fascinated him. So in 2022, when he and his wife Kathy were looking toward retirement, they decided to do the same. They were enamored with the soaring ceilings and massive timber beams found in houses of worship across the South.

“They build churches that way for a reason,” said Mr. Cahill, 62. “To uplift the spirit and to make people feel inspired.”

From their home base in Atlanta, the couple — both of whom grew up religious and eventually became atheists — scoured the Southeast. Finally, on a scouting trip last year, they stumbled upon the former Deyton Bend United Methodist Church in Green Mountain, N.C., a bohemian community in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The 3,127-square-foot brick structure, built in 1943 on about an acre, had just one bedroom. There was a kitchen downstairs, a meeting room, an open common space and a screened porch. It had been listed for $325,000 in May 2023, then reduced to $275,000 a few months later.

“There was something familiar and comfortable about the building,” said Ms. Cahill, who grew up Methodist. “It just smells like a church, which I really like.”

The Cahills bought it last November for just $232,000, joining a wave of buyers who are scooping up abandoned churches from coast to coast as congregations wither and disappear. Since about 2000, the number of Americans who belong to a church, synagogue or mosque has plummeted from around 70 percent to around 47 percent in 2021. The decline has been attributed to several colliding factors, including younger Americans rejecting organized religion, the rise of regional megachurches, internal church schisms, and even the Covid pandemic.

Small churches have been especially vulnerable. In 2020, the median size of a congregation at an American church had shrunk to just 65, with countless empty buildings left behind.

“There were only three of us left by the time we made the decision to close up the church,” said Travis Abernathy, 81, one of the last congregants at the Deyton Bend United Methodist.

After he and the other two members decided to join another church and sell off the building in Green Mountain, they wanted a new congregation to come in and take it over, but struggled to find any takers. That’s when the Cahills showed up. “We were glad to sell it to Louis and Kathy,” Mr. Abernathy said. “We couldn’t have chosen someone better than them to come and take care of this place.”

The Cahills have budgeted around $150,000 for renovations, which will include a new roof and a wall to transect the main hall to create living spaces. The primary bedroom will replace the raised altar platform, and they’ll build a loft under the timber beams to serve as a library. Mr. Cahill is repurposing the pews, some of which he’s making into headboards or using as dining room seating, and the altar, which he’s transforming into a bar. “If you think about it, it is a purpose-built table for pouring wine,” he said.

Despite converting the church into a home, the couple see themselves as stewards of a community pillar. They gave many of the pews to members of the dispersed congregation, and they repaired the old belfry, which had gone silent years ago. They now ring the bell on Sundays — a welcome return of a familiar sound in Green Mountain.

“We had a neighbor come visit, a woman who was very involved with the church, and she asked if the bell was staying,” Mr. Cahill said. They assured her it was, then asked if she wanted to ring it herself. “She was giddy,” he said. “There’s something about the sound of that bell ringing that is so joyful.”

As a market emerges for private buyers with a taste for belfries and grand facades, ideas abound for how to turn a church into something else: St. Mary Magdalene Church, in Homestead, Pa., became a ropes course. In St. Louis, the abandoned St. Liborius Catholic Church was turned into a skatepark by a community group. (St. Liborius burned down last year.).

“There’s no question that there are more churches for sale today than a few years ago,” said Eric Knowles, who leads the religious and educational facilities group at the brokerage Kidder Mathews. He estimates there are roughly 1,100 former churches currently for sale in the United States, but the design idiosyncrasies don’t always lend themselves to commercial conversions. “If a small, rural church doesn’t have parking then it has a pretty limited commercial conversion potential, which means most of the time it ends up becoming a residence.”

Churches are typically cheaper than conventional homes on a price-per-square-foot basis, but they tend to sit on the market much longer. Prospective buyers often must navigate a complex rezoning process and significant renovations. “Those 100-year-old churches often have historic designations, so developers aren’t as attracted to them, which means there’s lower demand,” Mr. Knowles said.

Out in Michigan, Mike Messier has been selling church properties for more than 40 years. At first, he said, most of his business involved churches selling to other churches. But that has changed. “Now we’re seeing a lot more conversions to schools, day care centers and residences,” said Mr. Messier, who works with Real Estate Professional Services in Utica, Mich. “There are people who know what it takes, but it can still be very expensive.”

Churches often lack bedrooms, a kitchen or adequate bathrooms. Older ones present the same challenges as any neglected home, including HVAC, electrical and plumbing issues. It’s a lot for any buyer to take on.

“The real estate market isn’t prepared for what to do with all those empty properties,” said Ryan Burge, a professor at Eastern Illinois University and author of “The Great Dechurching.” Mr. Burge, who also is a pastor, recently saw his own church, First Baptist Church, in Mt. Vernon, Ill., close due to a dwindling congregation and high upkeep costs.

He said that appraisers hired by the church had little idea of how to price the building, and used commercial properties with similar square footage as comparables. The congregation rebuffed an offer from one residential developer, opting to donate the building to a local Classical Christian school.

Other developers are finding better luck. Last year, Rob Oliverio bought the disused North Newry Community Church in Newry, Maine, for $150,000. The two-room clapboard building from 1904 with a modest belfry sits alone on a country road a few miles from Puzzle Mountain. When the town voted to sell it — the yeas defeated the nays 15-10 — Mr. Oliverio and his wife, Hannah Ramsey, saw an opportunity to convert it into a small eco-lodge.

After “a bit of an uproar,” he told the congregants that he would maintain the building’s integrity. “A lot of people came up to me and told me about their relationship to the church,” said Mr. Oliverio, who lives in Key West, Fla., where he owns an eco-tourism business. “Everyone there has some sort of tie to it — baptisms, weddings, funerals, you name it.”

When renovations are complete, the couple hope to list it on short-term rental platforms.

Brooks Morton, who was baptized in the Newry church as a child, was one of the 10 who opposed the sale. “I wanted to see the church go to a faith-based organization,” he said, “but the town wanted no part of it.”

Mr. Morton, 72, recalled going to classes in the one-room schoolhouse next door to the church: “When you walk in there, it’s walking back a hundred years ago.”

Mr. Oliverio, 51, has some experience with converting churches. In 2016, he bought the Key West Christian Science Church and Reading Room and made the attached Sunday school into a two-bedroom apartment for himself and his family. The church building still holds services, and he has invited the local literary community to use the space for readings and workshops.

“I’ve been interested in church architecture ever since I was little,” he said. “There is such significance in them. A lot of love and energy went into these buildings.”

In other regions, empty churches are waiting for someone to come along and save them. For 15 years in the historic Indian Village neighborhood of Detroit, the 4,000-square-foot Mount Olive East Missionary Baptist Church sat vacant, an abandoned kirk among rows of handsome Tudor and colonial revival homes. The deserted building landed in the Detroit Land Bank Authority, which struggled to find a buyer willing to bring it up to code for a residence. (“Bring your historic architect!” declared the listing.) Finally this month, a local family purchased it for $399,000 and plan to make it their primary home.

James Bufalino, the broker handling the sale, said that the combination of the neighborhood’s historic designation and the significant renovation costs made it a difficult sell, even when buyers fell in love with it. “It was tough,” Mr. Bufalino said. “You needed someone with the experience and the money to complete the project.”

Taranta Gatson-White, a public policy analyst for the city of Detroit who has lived across the street from the church since 1987, was relieved when it sold to a family. She’d been worried that if it became a commercial space, it could change the character of the neighborhood and impact zoning. “It was a small congregation but always very welcoming to the community,” said Ms. Gatson-White, 67. “The reason I’ve stayed here so long is because of the community.”

Honoring a community that feels some sense of loss can be the secret ingredient in these conversions. Last month in North Carolina, the Cahills’ home was severely damaged in the flooding caused by Hurricane Helene. Access to drinking water and electricity has been scarce. The couple have been helping their neighbors recover.

“It was amazing to see everyone pull together,” Mr. Cahill said. “We really feel bonded to this community now. All the problems we have with the house can be fixed. There are blessings in everything.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5618239&forum_id=2...id.#48241292)