It was the home of the Sixth Church of Christ Scientists, but it's empty now. On any given Sunday, there were probably a couple dozen cars parked outside for service, the owners of which were decidedly aged. The congregation, what little there was left of it, had decided some years ago to raze the building due to the lack of membership and the operating costs. They were talked out of it by the local homeowners, who thought it would be a shame to tear down. They tried to make a go of it, but dwindling members can only mean one thing.
I'm fascinated by this church, because it's not only one of the most beautiful churches I've seen - and I'm generally not sophisticated enough to be a discerning fan of architecture - but it's one of the most beautiful buildings I've seen. It is built from stone, and from the outside it almost has a castle feel to it. Its tall copper spire is identifiable from many blocks away, and provides an easy marker to tell how far from home I am. Until it recently collapsed in a storm, the front yard of this church held the most massive tree on our block. It would have taken four or five of us just to reach around it. There are many times, especially at night when the moon or streetlights are illuminating it, when I wish I'd had a camera with me to record the beauty, but knowing I could never do it justice.
The church is for sale now, and selfishly I hope it goes to someone who can continue with its intended use. The property is also zoned residential, so technically it's feasible to make this thing a giant house. And don't think I haven't toyed with the idea. But given my gas, electric and water bills, I can't imagine what this thing would run.
A part of me hopes it is never sold, but more than anything, I hope it's never torn down. I hope it finds new life. Isn't finding new life what a church is supposed to do?
