If you’ve ever strolled through the Northside of Dublin, you’ve likely noticed the towering, serene figure watching over Cabra. The statue of Christ the King, perched high on the facade of the church that shares its name, isn't just a religious landmark—it's a survivor of a world at war and a masterpiece with a surprisingly international backstory.
Here is the fascinating history of Cabra’s silent guardian.
A Church Built for a Growing City
In the late 1920s and early 1930s, Dublin was expanding rapidly. The "new" suburb of Cabra needed a spiritual heart, and in 1933, the Church of Christ the King was formally opened by Archbishop Byrne. Designed by the architectural firm of Robinson and Keefe, it was a marvel of its time, notable for being the first concrete church in Ireland.
But while the building was ready, its most famous inhabitant—the great statue—had a much longer journey ahead.
From Trieste to the Trenches
The statue itself was not carved in Ireland. It was sculpted in Trieste, a port city in northeastern Italy (now on the border of Slovenia). At the time, Trieste was a hub for high-quality masonry and religious art.
However, as the statue was being prepared for its new home in Dublin, history intervened. The outbreak of World War II made international shipping nearly impossible and incredibly dangerous. To protect the masterpiece from Allied bombings or Nazi confiscation, the statue was reportedly buried in the ground for safekeeping.
For years, while the people of Cabra prayed in their new church, their patron statue lay hidden in the Italian earth, waiting for the guns to fall silent.
The Long Journey Home
It wasn't until the 1950s that the statue was finally unearthed. It was crated in sections and dispatched across a recovering Europe to Dublin.
The arrival was a major event for the parish. Once it reached Cabra, the statue was carefully hoisted and installed on the "spur" of the church's tower, where it stands today. The figure depicts Christ with a hand over His heart and the other raised in blessing, a design that late National Gallery director Thomas McGreevy once described as having "sensibility, pathos, and dignity."
