As I greet our students each week on their walk into our homes, I witness a quiet miracle as they move from the dark silence of the street and settle into the bright noise of fellowship. This miracle is the assembly of a spiritual house, as one by one the stones are gathered and find their place among the others.

In his first letter, this is how St. Peter illuminates the meaning of the church: a spiritual house made up of living stones (1 Peter 2: 4-5). The stones are those who believe in Christ, and the house is the dwelling place of God built on the cornerstone who is Christ.

But there is a long-standing temptation to mislocate this purpose—to be the place where God dwells—as if someplace else was meant for that.

We miss this purpose, in part, because we can’t believe it’s true. That God — who we confess is above all things and created all things — would draw so near as to dwell in us is beyond what we could ask or imagine of being human. How could this be? How could the Creator of the stars be housed in the hearts of a tiny people among them? It is also true that we resist the nearness of God. It is difficult to allow him near, just as it is to allow ourselves to be known by those we love.

For all of these reasons, we need to be restored to the purpose for which God made us.

As we prepare for our spring retreat, consider that this is one of the instrumental ways that God restores our purpose. One of the great gifts of a retreat together is unbroken fellowship. Minutes that turn into hours that turn into days. Where a thought leads to a comment which leads to a conversation which leads to an expression of trust which make bonds that forge lasting friendships. Retreats are one of the places where we learn to dwell in the house of the Lord together.

So as our spring retreat approaches, I invite you to tell them—tell all the stones we’re going to make a building. Tell them they have a place in that house. And not just a place, but that they are a part of building it.

Then sign them up.