Sagrada Família: the world's tallest church, still unfinished

On the twentieth of February this year, a crane lifted the last arm of the cross onto the central tower of the Sagrada Família, at 172.5 metres. With that, a church whose foundation stone was laid in 1882 became the tallest church in the world. It has been under construction for a hundred and forty-four years — and it still isn't finished.

The date isn't a coincidence. This year is exactly a century since Gaudí's death. He was hit by a tram in Barcelona in 1926, dressed so plainly that he was taken for a beggar on the street and not identified straight away. For the last twelve years of his life he had worked on nothing but this church, and lived on the site.

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From outside, the Sagrada Família is the thing everyone photographs, and it's the weaker half. The façades are densely packed with figures, the building is hard to fit in a frame, the park in front is full of people attempting the same shot, and as a rule at least one crane is in it. The photograph almost never comes out well, and that's fine — it isn't the reason you go in.

Inside is a completely different building. Gaudí designed the interior as a forest — the columns branch near the top like trees and carry the vault, so you aren't standing in a room but under a canopy. That was the intention, and it's the one part no photograph conveys, because it depends on height and on light rather than on shape.

And that's where the one practical tip that genuinely changes the visit comes in: your entry time decides what you see. The east side (the Nativity façade) has windows in blues and greens, and it works in the morning. The west side (the Passion façade) is oranges and reds, and it lights up after midday. The same church at ten and at five is not the same space. If you only book one slot, the morning remains the classic choice — the blue-green light through the Nativity windows is why the day usually starts here.

„Outside it's a building site with cranes. Inside it's the only building that looks grown rather than built.“

— note from the road

The most interesting thing in the whole story is the reason the church may never be finished as designed. Gaudí planned a monumental staircase and approach on the Glory side, the main façade. The problem is that residential blocks where people actually live now stand on that spot. Fulfilling the plan would mean demolishing them — so the deadline for that part keeps sliding towards 2034–2035, if it is resolved at all.

The drawbacks deserve saying plainly. Tickets sell out days ahead and are sold online only, with a fixed entry time; turning up at a ticket window usually means not getting in that day. It isn't cheap, especially with the tower ascent, which is charged separately. It's crowded whichever slot you take. And yes — it is still an active building site, with scaffolding and cranes, and it will stay that way past this year too: interior work on the tower runs through 2027 and 2028.

But that is exactly what makes this church unlike any other you'll see in Europe. All the rest were finished centuries ago. This one is still going up in front of you, paid for by the ticket you just bought — which makes you, technically, one of its funders.