Location: Burnley Road
St John the Evangelist was Bacup’s first Anglican parish church, established in 1788 as the spiritual centre of a growing town. By the mid-19th century, however, the original building had become structurally unsafe. As a result, St Saviour’s Church was constructed nearby to accommodate the congregation of St John’s whilst their church was rebuilt, ensuring continuity of worship and parish life during a period of major transition.
The present St John the Evangelist building dates from the later 19th century, replacing the earlier unsafe structure and reflecting the Victorian Gothic style common to the period. Its reconstruction marked a renewed confidence in Bacup’s Anglican community at a time when the town was expanding rapidly. Alongside this, Christ Church was developed to serve other growing parts of Bacup, illustrating how Anglican worship spread in step with the town’s physical and social development, with St John’s remaining the historic heart of the parish.
In more recent years, changing patterns of worship led to the closure of St John the Evangelist as an active church in 2010. Rather than being lost, the building entered a new chapter as The Circle – an events venue and restaurant/take-away that preserves the church’s architectural character whilst opening it up for arts, markets, music, social events and gatherings. Today, The Circle continues St John’s long-standing role as a place where people come together, adapting a historic sacred space for contemporary community life.

St John's Church
This mosaic reflects themes of remembrance, faith and quiet reflection. Its setting near the war memorial reinforces the connection between place, memory and collective loss.
Night
Christine Worswick
Black fingered twigs tease the moon-lit air
Seducing the bats from the belfry
Who dart and squeak between armies of ancient graves
Each mossy headstone guarding past secrets
A bronze angel opens her feathered wings
Casting eagle shadows on a proud Celtic cross.
Night holds whispers of echoing sweet voices
Waving through frosted grass, where a marble shrine
Is dwarfed by a granite monolithic column
Slowly a swirling mist floats upwards
Sucking up shadows and musty fragrances
Of yellow chrysanthemums and red roses
Spiralling towards the blue full moon
Strands of transparent white, twist, roll and explode
Into clouds of dancing winged horses,
Who, hypnotised by the stars
Twinkling in the purple velvety vastness of space
Brushed my lips like a sliver of ice.
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Night



