The subtitle of our church is small enough to miss: House of Blessing. It came to us in prayer years before the building did. I want to unpack it briefly, because words are not décor — they are direction.
House. We are not a service to be consumed; we are a household to belong to. We expect bickering and birthdays and barbecues, and we expect God in the middle of all of it.
Of. The preposition does the work. We are not the source of the blessing. We are the porch where it is handed out. The current originates upstream.
Blessing. The Hebrew word stretches further than a polite well-wish. To be blessed is to be empowered to flourish. May you flourish here.