Some places seem almost sacred to us. These are sometimes places that are special because of their beauty, but more often their sense of sacredness arises out of experiences that happened there or because of the special people met there, or a special community that developed there.

This past spring, Nancy and I took a stroll through the campus of the University of North Carolina, our alma mater. We asked a local student to take a picture of us in front of the Old Well, and of course we passed by our old dorms, took pictures, and reminisced. It was (how do I express it?) almost sacred. Why? Because this is where we met (!) and it is where I was first really discipled in Christ, and where I first saw God do an amazing work when our fellowship group grew from 40 to over 400 in three years. Chapel Hill is special for us. For us, that makes it almost sacred. It was something different from what the alumni associate promotes—Tar Heels basketball or football or soccer. It was special because of the people.

You notice that I have said “almost sacred” three times. I don’t know how else to express the draw for us to make “pilgrimages” to Chapel Hill when we are in North Carolina. So many of the emotions, images, and narratives that we have of Chapel Hill cause me to consider that this must be what Jerusalem was like for the Jews: Worship, community, changed lives, and (for us) also marriage!

As much as I want to protect some of these sacred places—including my home church during elementary school years, which is now a private school—I realize that they are just places. They are not the Spirit of God, though the Spirit of the living God has inhabited these places at various times. I remember when our fellowship groups at UNC invited Billy Graham to speak in the basketball arena. We invited friends and were overwhelmed by how God used that place, community, and event.

But now that arena has been displaced by a new basketball arena.

As I wrestle with the changing times currently facing so many institutions of higher learning and what this means for Gordon-Conwell, we are experiencing the loss of special locations that for so many are also “almost sacred.” I—we all—are forced to make difficult choices. In my position at Gordon-Conwell, contending with all the changes in higher education reflected in the diminishing numbers of students who choose to live “on campus” today, we have been required to choose people over places. If we hold on to the “places,” we will go into further debt, risk our accreditation and thus our ability to put people first.

For me, the incarnation of Christ is a signpost. God became a person, not a building. He walked, talked, ate, taught, healed, and cast out demons. The Temple was temporary, and now, miraculously, we ourselves, as God’s people, are called the temple of the Holy Spirit. Not the Temple. Not the local church building (no matter how historic), not a city, or even an organization! It is God’s people, made in his image, who are to be served by institutions and places and buildings.

Even so, I am moved and often sorrowful when I read the many thoughtful, sometimes forceful emails I have received as seminary president when we’ve talked about places and buildings. There is a deep emotional and heartfelt attachment to these places. It is a wrenching conundrum to hear these sentiments while at the same time knowing the hard choices that need to be made if the institution is to survive.

And yet, what has not and will not change is that which drives us at Gordon-Conwell: honoring Jesus Christ and his Church above all else, including above our programs, our patterns of ministry, and even our places.

About 10 years ago, Nancy and I returned to Singapore and made a pilgrimage to Mt. Sophia where, for eight years, we had raised our four children: Mount of Wisdom! It was an almost-sacred place for our family. Our kids learned to love Jesus there, and also about his mission and his global church. They had a missiological discipleship, if you will. We walked up the hill, and, rather than seeing our five-story apartment building, we saw a bulldozer on top of rubble.

Nancy cried.

So many memories were connected to that building, and now, can we still remember? It was gone. No building. Yet we do remember, especially when we are together as a family.

Buildings serve a function for a while, but if we become too attached to them, we may miss the greater truth: God’s holy presence can dwell anywhere—in a prison, a favella, a public school, in a basketball arena, or even in a hotel where sacred worship is taking place.

So I hold onto the hope of God’s dwelling with and among his people, in our classrooms and even today in our Zoom meetings. At the same time, I seek to hold on lightly to places as symbols of God’s presence, not as shrines.

I am reminded of Peter’s immediate response to the presence of the triune God on the mountain top.

“Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, a bright cloud covered them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!” Matthew 17:4-5

Peter wanted to build something, and God responded by overshadowing his idea and instead urged him with his great voice, “Listen to him.”

Visit the Renewal page to read more about Gordon-Conwell’s ongoing spiritual and strategic renewal.

Dr. Scott W. Sunquist, president of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, is author of the “Attentiveness” blog. He welcomes comments, responses, and good ideas.