At a good potluck, the last person in line still eats. That’s what a church is supposed to feel like.

A place reveals itself by what happens to whoever arrives last. If the food runs out before the back of the queue, somebody up front took more than their share and nobody organised for the stragglers. Good rooms get built by people who count the chairs with latecomers in mind. That is a habit of attention, not an atmosphere that appears by itself.

Be the one who looks behind you this week. Save a seat, leave enough in the pan, text the person who always finds out about things afterwards. Small logistics are how belonging actually gets delivered to somebody.