A century-old church in Sweden relocated in a two-day journey

The exceptional engineering feat tells the story of the radical urban transformation of the Swedish Arctic city of Kiruna, which is being entirely relocated.                            

In Kiruna, Sweden's northernmost city, reality seems to chase cinematic fiction. In the film The Abyss (Avgrunden, 2023) Europe's mining capital implodes under the blows of seismic tremors caused by tunnels dug underground. In reality, those same man-made earthquakes have been shaking the foundations of homes for decades, forcing the gradual relocation of entire neighborhoods and, these days, of one of its most celebrated symbols: the great wooden church shingle style . A unique engineering operation that returns the concrete image of the Arctic city's migration.

Constructed between 1907 and 1912 to a design by architect Gustaf Wickman (1858-1916) the Kiruna kyrka is considered one of the most significant churches in the country thanks also to the presence of the precious altarpiece painted by Prince Eugene of Sweden (1865-1947) and the imposing organ. Entirely made of wood, it measures about 40 meters on each side at the base to a height of 35 meters and weighs over 600 tons. The structure was loaded in its entirety onto a purpose-built mobile platform with more than 200 wheels to travel the nearly five kilometers to the new Kiruna, reached after a two-day "walk". In order to accommodate its passage, it was necessary to cut down trees, remove road signs, traffic lights and even widen some roads.

The relocation of the church is part of a larger project, launched in 2004 by the state-owned mining company LKAB (Luossavaara-Kiirunavaara Aktiebolag), which involves the relocation of the entire city of Kiruna, with a population of around 23,000, three kilometres further east. Iron mining at the Kiirunavaara deposit – which descends to over 1,200 metres at a 60-degree angle towards the “old” city centre – has made the ground unstable, requiring the evacuation and reconstruction of entire residential neighbourhoods, infrastructure and public spaces at a safe distance. According to forecasts, the last building in the “old” city centre will be demolished by 2035.

The story of Kiruna highlights the tension between resource exploitation and urban planning. Sweden, a country that produces over 80% of the European Union’s iron, has built part of its economic prosperity on this industry. But the resulting urban transformation is no less radical: smaller buildings are transported on wheels, others dismantled and rebuilt, while some 20th-century architecture, including Ralph Erskine’s Ortdrivaren neighbourhood (1914-2005) and the old town hall by Artur von Schmalensee (1900-1972), are demolished because they are incompatible with the transport system, as highlighted in the Kiruna Forever exhibition held at ArkDes in 2020, curated by Daniel Golling and Carlos Mínguez Carrasco. In this context, the relocation of Wickman’s church takes on a highly symbolic value: it is not just a matter of preserving a historic building, but of preserving an element of identity in a city with a surprisingly short history, founded just over a century ago following the discovery of the deposit.