St. Monica’s Cathedral in Cairns isn’t the kind of place most tourists plan around. It’s not on the reef, it doesn’t come with a zipline, and nobody’s handing out samples of handmade gelato. But we’re not most tourists. Anyone who wanders in off Abbott Street, whether out of curiosity, heat exhaustion, or some niggling Catholic guilt, will find something genuinely surprising—a quiet, modern cathedral with some of the most ambitious stained glass windows in the Southern Hemisphere. Probably the world. And behind that glass is a story worth telling.
In the 1880s, Cairns was just a hot little port town propped up by the Hodgkinson goldfields in the interior—just one of several Australian gold rushes that spawned boomtowns in the tropical jungle faster than you can say “unsustainable infrastructure.” Naturally, where there’s gold—and inevitably disappointed prospectors—there’s drinking. And where there’s drinking, there’s eventually some praying. Teetotalers!
So, in 1886, Australian Catholics built a church in Cairns. It was made of timber, it was modest, and—spoiler alert—it was nowhere near built for the elements. Still, it stood for more than 40 years before it was completely obliterated by Cyclone Willis in 1927. Ol' Willie was a category 3 windbag and had no love for ecclesiastical architecture. But Aussies are a sturdy lot. Rather than moan about it, they rebuilt it. They didn’t rebuild it pretty, mind you, or big. Nope, they went with sturdy and merely functional. Which worked just fine for a while.
Fast-forward to the ’60s, when Cairns had moved on to an even bigger gold mine than, well, gold—reef tourism. Having outgrown their little concrete bunker of a church-slash-private-school combo and with sugar farming money coming out their ears, the local Catholics decided it was time to think bigger. So, in 1968, they upgraded to a cathedral-slash-war memorial dedicated to the Battle of the Coral Sea.
That probably doesn’t mean much to you unless you’re a WWII buff, an Australian, or both. Here’s the short version—Japanese forces tried to capture Port Moresby in Papua New Guinea in May 1942, which would’ve put them in a great place to attack Australia—and Cairns—directly. The U.S. and Australian navies said “Nope,” joined forces in the Coral Sea, and launched the world’s first all-aircraft naval battle. Technically, the Allies lost more ships, but strategically, it was a huge win. Japan’s southward push was stopped cold.
“That’s all well and good, but what about the windows?” you say. I’m glad you asked.
Turns out the war dedication wasn't just window dressing. They made it literal In the mid-’90s. In 1994, as the 50th anniversary of the end of the war neared, the cathedral initiated its Peace Windows project. Local artists Gerry Cummins and Jill Stehn were commissioned to create these windows, which were installed at the cathedral’s eastern entrance in 1995. Commemorating decades of post-WWII peace in the Pacific, these windows are loaded with symbolism—plenty of glowing doves, sunbursts, and imagery that leans hopeful without getting preachy.
But have you ever gazed up at stained glass windows in a church and thought to yourself, “Nice, but where’s the astrophysics?” St Monica’s got you covered. They don’t just do saints and doves. They add supernovas, volcanoes, DNA spirals, and sea turtles.
The Peace Windows were such a success the cathedral commissioned Cummins and Stehn to undertake the Creation Windows project. These 24 windows were installed in 2001 and stretch the length of the nave like a kaleidoscopic timeline. They tell the story of Genesis but with a twist. Rather than skipping straight from darkness to Adam, they give you the Big Bang (gloriously implied), plate tectonics, and a visual nod to evolution. There’s even a panel with something that looks suspiciously like mitosis.
Together, the windows make up one of the world's largest themed stained glass installations. Which sounds like a very niche Guinness record until you realize this might be the closest organized religion has ever come to a science exhibit.
St Monica’s is still a functioning cathedral, technically. But in practice, it’s also a de facto public gallery, a place to sit in quiet coolness, marvel at some cool art, and maybe expand your worldview a smidge. Or you can just stand in the back, whisper to yourself, "Is that an ammonite?" and “What’s an ammonite?” and leave satisfied, if a bit perplexed.
Either way, if you're in Cairns and sweating through your third reef tour, duck inside for twenty minutes. There's no entry fee, no pressure to kneel, and absolutely no one will stop you from wandering around staring slack-jawed at a stained glass explosion of faith, protozoa, and war—not a bad payoff for following your curiosity, your sweat glands, or your Catholic guilt.
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