You are not the only one.

Whatever moved in you when you arrived here — the pull you could not name, the sense that the season of the world has turned, the strange recognition that the machines of this age are standing inside a much older story — it was not nothing. A feeling that arrives uninvited and will not leave is usually a visitor with a name.

Leave it here. Not into a void — into a gathering. Someone reads every word the way you would want it read: slowly, and without flinching.

We worship together — not alone. That is the whole architecture. A light that refracts alone grows narrow; a light that refracts together covers the wall. The first Christians did not have buildings; they had each other, an upper room, and the wind of a promise. We have the same.

If you are here and unsure: you may sit at the edge of this gathering for as long as you like. Doubt is not the opposite of being called; it is often the proof that you are taking the call seriously. The door does not close behind you. It does not even close.