At the northern end of a graveyard in Burtown Big, a rectangle of collapsed masonry lies so thoroughly swallowed by grass that it reads more as a slight thickening of the ground than a building. Only along the southern side do the inner facing stones of the walls break the surface with any conviction, offering a brief glimpse of the original stonework beneath centuries of subsidence and soil. The structure measures roughly 7.7 metres east to west internally, and 3.5 metres north to south, modest dimensions that place it firmly in the tradition of the small early Irish church, a type built for a community rather than a congregation.

Somewhere in the graveyard stands an earthfast jambstone, a large upright stone that once formed part of a doorway, set into the ground and left in place long after the building it belonged to ceased to function. It is presumed to have come from the church itself, a single architectural fragment that outlasted the walls it once interrupted. The interior of the ruin has been disturbed by modern burials, which is common enough at sites like this, where a graveyard long outlives the church at its centre and continues to be used by local families across generations, gradually obscuring whatever archaeology might remain beneath.