Not going to end. Not ever, ever, and ever.

The building was not much larger than the modest Cape Cod style homes around it. The other homes along the block were clad in siding. This was brick.

Two other differences between this house and the others were as notable. A modest steeple reached a few feet from the pitch of the roof, and what could have been lawn was paved over into a parking lot.

As a boy sitting on my bicycle, I just stared at its mystery. It was so quiet, so forlorn.

How could a church die, I wondered.

The year was 1974.

Over the years, I have seen what you have seen. Former churches have been repurposed into art centers or community buildings. Others have become residential homes.

Some, vacant for a decade or so, still sit alone, unloved. Each year, they wear down more and more.

Most church lovers tsk, shake their heads, or move on because this is someone else’s sad story. We can only hold so much grief, after all.

But I’m a church lover who mourns deeply. I am not good with this.

No pastor, priest, or clergyperson I can fathom was called into ministry to close a church. No one entered seminary and checked the box that said, “Yes, I’ll be the one who let’s this congregation and church mission die.”

It’s just a no.

This week, we can reflect on Pentecost — the wind blowing, fire-blazing annual celebration of the church’s life and purpose that happened this past Sunday, May 19th.

How can a church go from unquestionable vitality, purpose, and assembly to something withering, near death, or closed?

I don’t get it. And no, I’m not going to hear you or someone else try to explain it with demographic charts, economic stats, or the rise of a churchless America.

Just no.

But if we Christians pick up and carry Pentecost beyond a once-a-year Sunday celebration to a year-long passion a church can sustain, or, even better, step into with vitality? Well, now I’m listening.

The plan to do this begins in scripture. Acts 2, the story of the Holy Spirit in the church, is both the history and the springboard for action. This is the story of Pentecost.

Those with differences met. In meeting, they didn’t bicker and divide further. Ut-uh. They met and found similarities and commonalities. Barriers busted. Borders broke down. It wasn’t with their own power that these similarities and commonalities strengthened. Another ut-uh. This was all the work of the Holy Spirit.

Unlike the church you and I have seen closed, the Holy Spirit hasn’t died. In fact, the Holy Spirit isn’t dying.

If our God of creation is still creating (and our God of creation is still creating), then these closings are a part of His plan because our God isn’t done. Our God hasn’t quit. And our God certainly isn’t quiet.

Instead, our God is clearly, dearly and completely at work. His people know this, trust this, and live this.