It was 1977 when this small improvised church, dedicated to Santo Domingo de la Calzada, was built right in the eye of a bridge on the M-30. Residents of the Puerta de Hierro area were in urgent need of a church, so its initial purpose was meant to be temporary—a stopgap until the new parish of the Baptism of the Lord found its permanent home. But as often happens, the temporary became permanent.
The space was just what it was: a barrel vault about 35 meters long and 4.5 meters in radius. The floor was laid with concrete. Brick partitions were built. Abstract stained glass windows were added, offering just enough light. And that was it.
The ceiling? Literally the asphalt of the M-30. Which meant that every leak, every drip, was a recurring problem. Water always found its way down. The solution was to build an internal secondary structure — a kind of inner shell — to redirect rain away from the altar.
Interior Design
There was another issue: originally, you could enter through either of the two facing doors. During Mass, this proved disruptive. Some would arrive late and walk in behind the presbytery, cutting through a velvet curtain mid-liturgy. The solution? Move the altar. Not against the back wall, as tradition dictates, but to a more central, sheltered spot.
Inside, the chapel is austere. Humble. Everything revolves around a small oculus facing the rising sun. No unnecessary decorations. Just what’s essential. Just what’s needed.
A Symbolic Presence
Curiously, part of the chapel’s iconography includes Santo Domingo de la Calzada holding a rooster — and a bridge. Not just a religious symbol, but a nod to the very structure that shelters the space.
From Temporary to Timeless
Eventually, the promised parish was completed. Official, bright, above ground. But the congregation didn’t want to leave the little chapel behind. They asked to keep celebrating Mass there. Below the city. In the half-light.
There’s something about that space that recalls the catacombs of ancient Rome. Those early Christians who gathered in secret, wrapped in shadow. Because sometimes, the sacred doesn’t need domes or stained glass. Just a corner where faith can breathe — even if it’s beneath a highway.