The Preacher’s Son
BENTONVILLE, ARK.IN THE SUMMER OF 1971,William Christopher
Cooper, a youth minister, gave his first sermon at
the Bentonville United Methodist Church in north-
west Arkansas. His father had been a minister,
like his father before.
Almost four decades later, in 2017, his son, Matt
Cooper, helped open a restaurant in a former
church across the street. Along with partners, he
called it the Preacher’s Son. There was not really
any other option.
“My father’s side are all Methodist ministers
and my mom’s side are all in food technology,” Mr.
Cooper, the executive chef, said. “I guess they kind
of got what they wanted: I’m the executive chef of
a church.”
Mr. Cooper leans on local farms and butchers
for ingredients, serving the community where he
has lived his whole life. Now, during the coronavi-
rus pandemic, the restaurant has outdoor dining
and tables spread out through the space.
“What a church does is provide a place for
people to gather and to support each other,” he
said.REPURPOSED CHURCHES
around every corner” for hipsters. Many have
become different kinds of creative spaces and
communal gathering spots, often providing what
might be considered “secular ministry.”
It is unclear how many religious buildings are
repurposed. Roughly 1 percent of the nation’s
350,000 congregations — or 3,500 — close each
year, based on an analysis from Mark Chaves, a
sociology professor at Duke University and direc-
tor of the National Congregations Study. But not
all find new uses, and some buildings are filled by
different congregations.
In January, before the coronavirus hit the
United States, The New York Times began check-
ing in with the people and organizations inhabiting
eight former churches. Then, the buildings contin-
ued to serve and delight their communities. Now,
their transformations may serve as prophecies for
more change to come.Audible
NEWARKAUDIBLE, A DIGITAL AUDIOBOOKand podcast
service, has fully embraced the tech world’s affini-
ty for proprietary slang.
Meetings are sometimes “scrums.” The offices
are sometimes “campus.” If employees acciden-
tally call the flagship building a “church,” col-
leagues might gently correct them. It’s the Cathe-
dral. Specifically, it is “Innovation Cathedral.”
“It’s supposed to be our own space of inspira-
tion, to take you out of the traditional work space
and help people think about: ‘What is the next
thing that we need to invent?’ ” said Anne Erni, the
chief people officer (another term), who oversees
personnel and facilities.
Audible built a three-level structure in the cav-
ernous space. The building, constructed in 1933,
was once the Second Presbyterian Church The
congregation, founded in 1811, dissolved in 1995,
and Audible began restoring the building in 2015.
“We removed as many religious icons as we
could,” Ms. Erni said. “Our goal is not to make this
represent any one religion, but to represent the
diversity of thought and perspective that comes
from having a diverse population.”
Still, the original stained glass windows are
surprisingly humanist, with images of figures like
Aristotle and Louis Pasteur as well as Jesus.
During the pandemic, most employees work
from home. Like many other office buildings, the
Innovation Cathedral awaits their eventual return.Phi Sigma Kappa
RENSSELAER POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE, TROY, N.Y.NOT EVERY CONVERSIONfrom a religious space
to a secular one goes forward seamlessly.
In 2011, when the Phi Sigma Kappa fraternity at
Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute moved into the
church and rectory of St. Francis de Sales, a for-
mer Catholic church in upstate New York, it con-
cerned some.
Although the church had sat vacant for two
years, neighbors were not too pleased with the
conversion. Christer Herrmans, the chapter’s
former president, was trimming the bushes out
front when a woman approached him.
“ ‘It’s not right what you’re doing in that build-
ing,’ ” he said she told him. “But I thought: ‘We’re
taking care of that building. If it weren’t for us, it’d
be falling apart.’ ”
The students live in the rectory, and they gather
in the church itself. Every Sunday evening, they
hold a chapter meeting. It is a fraternity house
without booze. They have agreed with the city to
use the property as a dry space.
Mr. Herrmans is not religious himself, he said,
but he said a fraternity and a church have much in
common, and he draws strength from the familiar
rituals. “Having tradition and rituals,” he said,
“that’s a very religious type of thing.”South River Vineyard
GENEVA, OHIOGENE SIGEL LIKESto tell visitors to his winery
that Noah planted a vineyard after the Great Flood.
“Sometimes, people would come in and say:
‘This seems odd. We shouldn’t be drinking in a
church,’ ” said Mr. Sigel, the owner of South River
Vineyard, a vineyard and winery based in a repur-
posed Methodist church, built in 1892. “I’ve often
pointed out that the church has a long history in
Europe of being involved in alcohol production.”
Mr. Sigel, an economic historian, knows about
monasteries with vineyards dating to the Middle
Ages and the roots of the building he now inhabits.
“They had lots of chicken and biscuit dinners in
the basement,” Mr. Sigel said, talking about the
small congregation that occupied the space before
it fell into disrepair in the 1970s.
About 20 years ago, he stopped by the building.
The woman who oversaw the property told him he
could have the whole place. (The building was free,
but he had to pay $75 each for its 16 pews.)
In 2000, he had Amish carpenters take the
church apart and move it 52 miles to his farm. Peo-
ple have been served outside during the pandemic.
“These are not difficult buildings to repurpose,”
he said. “There could be all kinds of bars and
restaurants and breweries. Long term, those are
the things that have survived: that common bond
of people taking communion — not necessarily
religiously, but centered around food and alcohol.”THE NEW YORK TIMES, MONDAY, OCTOBER 26, 2020 N A.