Finding Home

I written a post in my mind several times for this blog. First, I was thinking about home-as where my spiritual routes were. As a child I went to St. John Vianney in Colonia, NJ. It was a big parish. I remember the family friends that attended. Once in a while we all drove to Consellata-a small church in the country that was a Italian missionary church. My dad and Siobhan's (my best friend) mom would sing along with a guitar. We went to the folk Mass on Sundays. We had Mass in my home for holidays or special occasions, when my uncle Pete (a Paulist priest) was in town.

I was not going to make it back east this summer. Even if I did, I don't know who I would visit.
I searched for Consellatta and St. Johns on the internet. I found them, but they were not home. I also realize they were not "home." I thought about going to Mass (just wasn't home) or reading Hans Kung (books that were a part of my home library- if you think Crossan is dense:).

Then Jim's parents moved here. Suddenly ten days later Jim's dad died. I found myself sitting in Chalice, listening to my dad and Jim in the service.
When I arrived, several church members were already there. My mom came along with a friend of our family. Slowly more church friends arrived. Then, friends from Jim's work and school slipped in. Cards and flowers arrived.
What a powerful moment for me. This is home-I am have been on the road - searching for home. Here I am.