Going Home, Coming Home – Finding a Home

The theme for this summer’s sabbatical is “Going Home, Coming Home.” A lovely sentiment. But what if you are still trying to find your home in the first place? What if you are not able to “go” home? What if a location is perhaps still too new to be “home”?

An insight presented itself to me the other day. Just stood right up, waved its arms, and demanded my attention. We live in an age of rootless transience. Folks constantly “relocating.” Just when you are getting to know someone – whshht, they are whisked away. The current “housing crisis” in our land is a powerful symbol of a deeper disruption, a homelessness of the spirit, that has gripped society lately. How do you help folks create a home in an unfamiliar territory?

Those who live under the Arizona sun are familiar with our heritage, of people of European heritage who made their way into this desert of hostile beauty (displacing the Native American residents, we might add). Judaism, Christianity, and Islam all honor as founder another transient, yanked out of his homeland and shoved down the road to a strange new land: Abraham. Immigrants must carve a home out of a wilderness filled with unfamiliar landmarks – even if they are urban. Marilyn, RJ, and I know how that feels, even as recently as this week, as we’ve been casting about for new quarters. The owner of the house we rent gave us notice that we must be gone by the end of July. So we've been scrambling to find a new domicile. Call it the housing crisis up close and personal for us. So now we know with some immediacy: displaced persons always experience stress – even if the transition is for the best of reasons.

What makes a “home” out of a “place”? Some brief images come to mind: a place where we belong, where we’ve found our “place” in the group. A place where we can take root and figure out our present identity as belonging here. A place where we are connected to other people and the territory that surrounds us. A place where we feel welcomed, cherished, that is hospitable to us, body, soul, and spirit, welcoming our quests and our questions. A place where we share a heritage and a vision. A place where we can find a job that is uniquely our own, a vocation, whether it be teaching, making coffee, plucking weeds, or praying. A place where we can relax and know that we are known, loved, cherished. A place filled with keepsakes, with objects, but not just any old thing. A place filled with things that are tied to memories, to hopes, things full of meaning. Dad’s chair. Our pew at church. The youth room. A place echoing with conversations, be they pure silliness or freighted with things that matter. A place ringing with laughter, hushed with tears. A place swathed in forgiveness, as we decide to bury past offenses and build a future together, as we offer each other Christ’s peace every Sunday as a kind of “earnest money” deposit toward that future. A place in which we find ourselves banding with others – once strangers, now friends – marching together toward something important. A place fragrant with the scent of food, glorious food, in which we crowd around tables together, or a Table spread by a host named Jesus Christ. What makes a “home” out of a “place”? All of these things and more.

Let me suggest that anyone who is coming from another place, another web of relationships, is not truly “home” until they have found a future. “Home” gives us a place to stand and look toward a shared tomorrow. Which is what I’ve discovered right here at Chalice Christian Church. I’ve found a bunch for whom “home” is in the questions that in turn reveal a quest for God. Together.