Recently I returned to a neighborhood from my childhood. Almost every week we used to drive up a hill past a little white church that I fantasized turning into a home one day. Even back then I had a longing to live in sacred space. To dwell where God dwells.
Today, more than fifty years after those childhood drives and dreams, I discovered that someone has indeed turned that church into their home. Looking up at the white spire and leaded glass windows, it hit me, it isn’t the building that makes a space sacred, it is the spirit that fills it. God, at least any understanding that I have of the Creator that, one way or another, started it all, dwells wherever invited.
Church as home. Home as church. It’s all sacred space. Or at least I think it is meant to be.