Living with other people is a fast track to spiritual formation. You don’t need a monastery or a discipleship intensive—just an overpriced apartment with a random human (or three) who somehow always forgets to take out the trash but never forgets when your rent is due.
There’s a certain kind of character-building that happens when you share a fridge with someone who treats expiration dates like gentle suggestions. Or when you realize your definition of “clean” does not, in fact, align with theirs. Or when they host a “small gathering” that turns into an all-night worship jam session that you were not warned about.
If you want to see how much of Jesus you really have in you, don’t go on a mission trip. Just try cohabitating with someone who leaves passive-aggressive Post-it notes instead of having an actual conversation.
The Refining Fire of Shared Spaces
Sanctification—the lifelong process of becoming more like Jesus—is a beautiful thing. But let’s be honest: It’s rarely comfortable. And few things will force you to confront your own shortcomings faster than splitting utilities with someone who “forgets” their share every month.
Living in community, especially with people outside your immediate family, forces you to deal with your own quirks, bad habits, and occasional selfishness. It’s easy to think of yourself as patient until your roommate blasts their worship playlist at 6 a.m. like you live in a 24/7 prayer room. It’s easy to think you’re a great communicator until you realize your default conflict resolution style is aggressively washing dishes while sighing loudly.
And sure, we all want to be loving, forgiving people. But that’s easier to do with friends, coworkers, and even strangers than with the person who keeps inviting their entire small group over without giving you a heads-up.
In Christian circles, we talk a lot about how relationships refine us, but we often assume that only applies to romantic ones. Not so. Platonic, non-optional relationships—the ones we don’t get to hand-pick, the ones that test our patience, the ones that make us seriously contemplate moving to a cabin in the woods—are just as formative, if not more so.
When “Protecting Your Peace” Isn’t the Answer
We live in a culture that glorifies curating the “perfect” life: the right friends, the right aesthetic, the right level of emotional ease. And, to be fair, boundaries are important. No one is suggesting that you endure an unsafe or truly toxic living situation for the sake of spiritual growth. But in an era where people cut each other off over minor annoyances, it’s worth asking: Are we actually protecting our peace, or are we just avoiding discomfort?
Growth doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in friction—the tiny, daily moments of choosing grace over frustration, choosing conversation over passive aggression, choosing to let go of the fact that your roommate’s version of doing the dishes is “soaking them indefinitely.”
We often assume that a good living situation is one where everything is easy, where our housemates magically align with our preferences and quirks. But what if a good living situation is one where we are stretched? Where we learn how to have hard conversations instead of stewing in resentment? Where we practice grace, patience, and kindness not just when it’s easy, but when it’s inconvenient?
Loving People You Didn’t Choose
One of the greatest spiritual tests isn’t how we love our best friends. It’s how we love the people we didn’t choose. The ones who interrupt our routines, challenge our assumptions, and frustrate us just enough to make us reconsider all our life choices.
The early church was built on this kind of community—people with radically different backgrounds learning how to coexist, serve, and love one another. They didn’t get to hand-pick their church small groups based on who shared their exact preferences for noise levels or fridge organization. They had to figure it out.
And so do we.
That doesn’t mean tolerating everything—boundaries exist for a reason, and some living situations do need to change. But most of the time, our frustrations with roommates aren’t deep moral failings; they’re just inconvenient differences. And learning to navigate those differences, to communicate well, to forgive, and to extend grace? That’s real, grown-up Christianity.
So the next time your roommate finishes the last of your oat milk (again) or their idea of “cleaning” is just lighting a candle to mask the mess (again) or they leave dirty dishes in the sink for a record-breaking amount of time—take a deep breath. Remember that this might just be your chance to practice patience, kindness, and, at the very least, a well-phrased but direct text.
Sanctification starts at home. And sometimes, it starts with just letting the little things go.
