Mostly the Spirit seeps into our bodies like the moist chill of a basement floor on bare feet. We walk about the house, our house, a house of prayer, and breathe in its open spaces and shadowed corners. It seems like just a house, when in fact it's a framework for residing in the world. Our questions and answers all begin with cement and end with roof tiles. Or they begin beneath, in the dark dirt, and end with smoke rising skyward from our chimneys. In other words, faith is a container. Its walls shape the spirit inside.
— Elizabeth J. Andrew, On the Threshold