PLACES & SPACES | ROOMS & GARDENS | WORLD OF CABANA
Hidden beneath the sloping rooftops of a 17th-century Amsterdam canal house lies a wonder so extraordinary it blends art, history, and religion into a single space. Emma Becque and Isabel Bronts step inside the clandestine world of Our Lord in the Attic, a beautifully preserved secret church concealed in the eaves of a wealthy merchant's home.
BY EMMA BECQUE | ROOMS & GARDENS | 04 OCTOBER 2024
The house features two kitchens—a 17th-century kitchen in the rear and a 19th-century family kitchen in the main house, both adorned with Delft tiles © Isabel Bronts
Hidden among the narrow townhouses, cobbled streets and colorful characters of Amsterdam's infamous De Wallen district, lies a 17th-century canal house with a divine surprise in its rafters. In a city celebrated for its progressive history, one space tells a different story. Our Lord in the Attic (Ons' Lieve Heer op Solder) tells the intriguing tale of a time when religious tolerance came with quiet restrictions.
During the Protestant Reformation, public Catholic worship was banned in the Netherlands. However, influenced by trade pragmatism and a spirit of self-governance, Amsterdam's leaders allowed Catholics to practice their faith—so long as it remained out of sight. This balance of freedom and concealment birthed hidden churches like this one, ingeniously concealed within private homes.
The heart of Amsterdam's oldest district holds a secret that dates back to these times of quiet defiance. From the outside, the canal house at Oudezijds Voorburgwal blends seamlessly into its neighbors, with its elegant gabled façade reflecting the city's Golden Age. But behind its narrow corridors and steep staircases is an extraordinary asset: a Catholic church tucked high within the eaves.
Built in 1663 by a wealthy Catholic merchant, the church served as a sanctuary for over 150 worshippers when the open practice of the faith was forbidden. Yet, this was no mere chapel—a fully functioning parish with an altar, pulpit, organ and galleries. To step through the small door in the living room is to be summoned on a journey through time, up the steep, winding staircase to a space where the sacred and ordinary meet.
Access to the church, affectionately known as Our Dear Lord in the Attic (Ons’ Lieve Heer op Solder), was ingeniously concealed behind a false door in the living room © Isabel Bronts
The attic, transformed into a grand church, is nothing short of a marvel. Ingenious craftsmanship removed the need for central supports, creating a soaring ceiling that envelops the spacious interior. The church is circumfrenced by galleries accessible via narrow, twisting staircases, while a vibrant altarpiece depicting the Baptism of Christ presides over the room. The walls, a rich pink hue known as 'caput mortuum', lend an air of solemnity to this sacred hideaway. In this intimate space, every detail—the statues flanking the altar or the trompe l'oeil wooden columns painted to resemble marble—an innovative decorative to prevent any heavy weight in the alcoves tell a tale.
But the journey through the museum begins long before you reach the attic church. Jan Hartman's living quarters are eroded with time yet maintain the restored furnishings of the 17th-century family. The main bedrooms are a particular delight, adopting the formula of a room-within-a-room, with beds carved into cozy alcoves—' sleeping closets' that evoke the intimacy of domestic life in a grand home.
The tiny kitchen flecked with yellow is another highlight. Delft tiles line the walls, depicting scenes of agricultural workers, while a cast iron stove holds pride of place, evoking a time when the bustle of daily life centred around this heart of the home.
One of the family’s cupboard beds, a hallmark of 17th-century Dutch life. Sleepers would rest upright, driven by the superstition that lying flat invited death © Isabel Bronts
Our Lord in the Attic is not just remarkable for its camouflaged charm but also for the quiet defiance it represents. During a time when Catholic worship was forced behind closed doors, this house-turned-church stood as a beacon of peace. Here, faith was not practised in secrecy but through a delicate balance with authorities—a tacit agreement that worship could continue as long as it remained out of sight.
The secret church was transformed into a museum in 1888, becoming Amsterdam’s second oldest. Yet, this remarkable space remains in use today, with services still held in the attic, preserving a tradition of worship that has quietly endured for over 400 years.And while you need not be a believer to appreciate the space, an undeniable sense of reverence is tinged throughout the hallowed halls.
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