Miles In Missions

Years ago, my family and I were blessed with the opportunity to travel to Italy. One of the most awe-inspiring experiences of that trip was standing inside St. Peter’s Basilica. As I wandered through its vast, intricate beauty, I found myself captivated not just by the architecture, but by the story behind it. The dream that brought it into being.

Who were the people who dreamed this into existence? Who envisioned something so grand, so detailed, and so enduring, centuries ago? Who were the ones who labored to bring it to life without the technology or equipment we so often take for granted?

St. Peter’s Basilica took over 120 years to build. Generations of artisans and laborers worked on something they would never live to see completed. Imagine being a stonecutter or carpenter, spending your entire life working on a project you knew you’d never fully witness. Yet still, you show up, day after day, faithful to a vision passed down from dreamers.

A basilica like this stands as a testament to the very best of us. Our creativity, devotion, craftsmanship, patience, and perseverance. But more than that, it’s a testimony to the power of a dream and the people who believe in it. For every cornerstone laid, there was a dreamer behind it.

Someone imagined the sanctuary. Someone else found the stone. Another drew the first sketches. And then a multitude of hands joined in hauling, carving, sewing, raising money, and pounding nails, carrying the dream forward.

Most of them probably didn’t see themselves as anything extraordinary. They might have simply said, “I’m just a blacksmith,” or “I’m only a seamstress.” But if you asked God, I suspect He’d call them dreamers and builders of sacred things.

It makes me wonder: How many teachers, nurses, parents, farmers, or small business owners are doing the very work of Christ without realizing it? We don’t often think of our daily work, our spreadsheets, our caregiving, our meal prep, our customer service as sacred. Yet Scripture reminds us otherwise.

In a letter to the Ephesians, the apostle Paul described a spiritual dwelling being built among us, a great temple. A living basilica. Not one of stone and mortar, but of people. Of us. A basilica of the dreamer.

We don’t talk much about building basilicas anymore. Maybe we should.

We live in a society that often measures work by the American dream: job titles, salaries, promotions, possessions. But the dream of the Basilica, the one God calls us to be part of, isn’t about accumulating wealth or prestige. It’s about offering our gifts, our work, our sweat, and our presence toward something bigger than ourselves.

Whether you are a plumber or a poet, a board member or a baker, your role matters. Your work matters. What’s required is not a perfect résumé or a five year plan, but a willingness to dream and to believe that your dream is a stone in the basilica being built.

That’s how I often feel about my work with C.A.R.E. Africa. The seeds being planted today in the hearts and minds of children, caregivers, and communities in Nigeria are part of a sacred, generational vision. Most days, I don’t get to see the fruit.

I don’t know which child will grow up to lead with integrity or which caregiver will break cycles of poverty or trauma. And I may never see the full harvest in my lifetime. But I believe we are placing stones in a basilica we cannot yet fully imagine.

And if you’ve ever donated to C.A.R.E. or prayed for the children and staff, know this: you are a dreamer and a builder too. You may never meet the student who learned to read because of your support. You may never hear the prayer whispered by a mother with a full belly. But your faithfulness, your prayers, and your generosity are part of something sacred. You are helping build a living basilica, one life at a time.

William Faulkner once wrote, “You can’t eat for eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours a day. All you can do for eight hours a day is work.” So if we must work, let us work with joy. Let us offer our hours not to the idols of success or status, but to the dream God is unfolding among us.

Maybe the basilica you’re building is a home, a school, a community, a small business, or a safe space for someone who’s hurting. Maybe it’s a line of code, a meal delivered, or a hand held in silence. Whatever it is, do it for the dreamer.

And if you don’t live to see it completed, you’re in good company.
The grandest basilica I’ve ever seen is still under construction. Not one of stone and mortar, but of God’s kingdom, rising in unseen places through ordinary people.

At St. John the Divine in New York City, there’s a quote carved into the stone at the base of the cathedral’s Poet’s Corner:

“Thy will be done in art as it is in heaven.”

To that I say, Amen.
Amen in plumbing and parenting.
In spreadsheets and sermons.
In counseling and cleaning.
In teaching, feeding, and sponsoring.
In everything we do, may we place our stone in the long awaited basilica.

The work is in front of us. Let’s keep building.