San Giuseppe is not the largest church in Vasto. Nor is it the oldest. It isn’t even the most beloved. And yet, it is the city’s cathedral.
It is, in fact, Vasto’s oldest parish, but it only gained that status in the early 19th century due to a rivalry between the two historic churches of San Pietro and Santa Maria. Their longstanding feud escalated to the point of causing public disturbances during the annual Easter Misteri celebrations. To restore order, the King of Naples stripped both churches of their privileges and transferred them to a small conventual church located midway between them.
Although the church is dedicated to San Giuseppe (Saint Joseph), this was not due to a special devotion to Jesus’ father. Instead, it was an act of gratitude toward the King of Naples at the time—Joseph Bonaparte, the brother of Napoleon.
Adding to its contradictions, San Giuseppe is also a historical illusion: its Gothic architecture is less than a hundred years old. Yet, despite its recent transformation, the cathedral preserves traces of the earlier Church of Santa Margherita, built at the end of the 13th century.
San Giuseppe’s location seems as prominent as one could imagine—right in the heart of the historic city, in a spacious square that appears deliberately placed along Vasto’s main street. But this was not always the case. When the church was originally built, this area was actually outside the city walls, designated for the construction of an Augustinian monastery.
Today, the cathedral feels like an integral part of the old town’s urban layout. However, even the clear view of its façade from the Caldoresco Castle is a modern creation. Up until the 1920s, a narrow street lined with artisan workshops, known as the “Corsea degli Scarpari” (Cobblers’ Alley), ran through this area. The local administration, aiming to create an elegant promenade, demolished an entire row of houses, revealing the church’s façade from hundreds of meters away. Previously, it would have remained hidden until reaching the small square in front of it, once known as Largo de Ferrari, a hub for blacksmiths.
San Giuseppe is a church of many contradictions, yet this is precisely what makes it one of the most fascinating places in Vasto. Its walls do not tell the story of a single, distant era but rather a continuous evolution, shaped by those who modified the building over centuries. Each intervention left its own mark, embedding a unique interpretation of history through the symbols they chose to display.
The Cathedral of San Giuseppe, more than any other monument, is a place where things are not what they seem.
Observing it with a keen eye reveals a deeper narrative hidden within its architectural details.
Want proof? Stand in front of the church and admire its most celebrated architectural feature—the beautiful stone rose window, reminiscent of similar works found in the L’Aquila region. But here’s the twist: the rose window was never part of the original church. It was “built” in 1928, not rebuilt, because no such feature had ever existed on its façade before.
But that’s not the most intriguing detail. Look closer at the capitals atop the small columns of the window’s tracery. If you can’t see them clearly with the naked eye, use a camera zoom or a smartphone. Focus on the first column, positioned at what would be “12 o’clock.”
You might expect to see a carving of Saint Joseph, Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, or perhaps a symbolic medieval beast.
No, nothing of the sort.
Instead, what you’ll find is a fascio littorio—a bundle of rods bound together with leather straps, encircling an axe. This symbol, commonly seen throughout the historic center of Vasto, was deliberately placed there at the request of the Genova Rulli barons, who financed the church’s reconstruction in an attempt to ingratiate themselves with the Fascist regime.
A simple church? Far from it. San Giuseppe is a monument filled with layers of history, power, and hidden messages—waiting to be uncovered by those who look closely enough.
