The Long Journey Home

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old--and Sarah herself was barren--because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, "as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore."

Home! Listen to the sound of the word. Home. Does it remind you of a place long ago? Home. Does the word evoke memories for you? Home. What does it symbolize for you?

Home is a place. It is the place you go and they have to take you in. Home is a place where you are always welcome. It’s where they not only know your name and say it with a feeling of endearment. It is a place where you don't have to prove yourself or earn your place. You belong!

Home. The word evokes memories of Christmas dinners, family gatherings and good times like no other. The mention of home evokes memories of mother’s love, her patient listening, and her admonitions.

Thomas Wolfe--"You can never go home again." But, I am not sure of that. I recall going away to college and going back home, going away to camp and going back home, going to the beach for summer fun, and going back home.

I recall the invigorating effect of going home when I was burned out and empty. I had been ministering in Phenix City, Alabama for two years. I had worked hard, built a new sanctuary, and reached numbers of persons. I was tired. Then I went home to Elba. I walked the levee, stood by the river. Breathed the air! Remembered boyhood, horses, swimming in the river, remembering dreams and hopes of another day. With those memories came new life, hope, and energy. (There’s No place like home.” The old song says it. I wanna Go Home.)

Home is more than a place; it is more than a memory. It is also a metaphor. I think that “home” is a metaphor for the deep longing in all of us for a permanent home. Freud spoke of this as a longing to return to the womb, a place of safety, peace where all our needs were met. A place where everything is in equilibrium.

In the Christian faith we would speak of this yearning as the desire to return to Eden. The Garden of Eden points that pre-fall state, when creation in harmony and uninterrupted by sin. Then came the Fall and angels were placed at the gates of Paradise with flaming swords to present our return to Eden.

Home for many is not a word that evokes feelings of acceptance and love; it does not offer the renewal and energy that I have testified to. Home for them was a place of pain, abuse, loneliness, and fear.

I recall a Friday night in Tulsa when I was attending a small reception before my workshop the next day. I began a conversation with Mary and I asked her when it meant to go back home.

To my surprise she plunged into a painful story about home. She explained that she was reared on Long Island. "When I was growing up," she said, “my mother was an alcoholic. I was sent away to boarding school and when I came home for holidays, she was usually drunk. When I went home from college she always listened respectfully to my questions but was of little help when she offered superficial assurance that she knew I'd make the best decisions. Later when I married and had a family, she always told me I was a good mother, and how proud she was proud of me. But when she opened her mouth with these affirmations she sprayed the scent of liquor around the room. I suppose she got drunk to quell her anxiety about our time together.”

"So," Mary said, "I've always had mixed feelings about going back home. Home always seems to be before us, beyond us!"

Home is not a place you go back to, but a place you go on to!

Mary’s confession points in another direction. She confesses this restlessness for all of us --"Home is not where I am, nor where I've been, home is where I'm going."

How many of us have felt this longing for another place? Anywhere but here.

Tell me honestly, have you not longed for a place where everything is peace, where problems are solved, tears cease, and life is wonderful? Do we not all long for Utopia? But Utopia is exactly what it says, “No Place.” No place here where life is like that. And, no matter what we achieve, it eludes us, lies before us and beckons us on!

This, of course, is Paradise, the City whose architect and builder is God!

Perhaps when Mary said, "Home is always before us," she was giving voice to what Abram knew long, long ago.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he stayed for a time in the land he had been promised, as in a foreign land, living in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he looked forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.

By faith he received power of procreation, even though he was too old--and Sarah herself was barren--because he considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, "as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore."

The writer of the letter to the Hebrews says: "Abram, when he was called obeyed." The God who always stands before us, calls us -- and calls us out of our comfort, our “set in our way” stance – God calls us into a journey. My hope through this summer has been that each of us would feel a serious call into our journeys. I hoped that God would call you into a more significant relationship with godself. Perhaps, it would be a new devotion to God or a new sense of call from God.

To get on this journey in a new way, we must obey. We, like Abraham, must respond to the call of God. We say, “Yes!” This is O so simple and yet so difficult. The issue is control. Who will control our lives? Us? Or, God?

Like Abram, we go out "not knowing." We cannot see the end of the journey; we cannot know about the tests of the journey; but neither are we able to anticipate the Grace of God that will be given us. Life is always a journey of not knowing. Most of the time we are following hunches, intuitions, visions, but we do not have a road map or a blue print.

But, also, like Abram we look "forward" to a city whose "builder and architect is God." With Abraham we hope for a city, a heavenly city of peace and fulfillment, a city where there is no more sickness, sorrow or death. I hope for a city where I shall see my mother again and hear my father’s words, “well done,” and I long for the place where there is no more sin, sorrow or pain. I hope in eternity to visit with the saints who have shaped my life and befriended me on the way.

Maybe Mary had it right--"Home is always before us, out of reach, just out of sight, but like a mighty magnet of the soul, the city God is building lures us on!

The Hebrews writer gives us an amazing summary of all those people who look for home in the future:

All of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them. Heb. 8:11-16

When we look at the biography of Abram we meet a man who believed that home was "not something you back to but something you go on to!"

I have said that Home is a place we go back to, but it is also a place that we go on to. I think that nothing unites these two aspects of our life’s journey like the table before us. On this table we have bread and wine. These are the powerful realities in which we live.

1. On the one hand, the supper takes us back to the upper room, the cross, and the tomb. We say, “On the night that he was betrayed, he took bread… When we say those words, however, the past becomes present. We sit at the table with Christ, the saints, and each other.

2. On the other hand, this meal speaks of the future, of the end of history. Jesus said, “We will not eat and drink again, until we do it in the Kingdom of God.” The meal anticipates the future.

This compresses time: the past catches up with us and the future comes back to meet us. And when we eat this bread and drink this wine we enter the land of No Where, truly a transcendent moment of union with God, with each other, and with all the saints of God. For a moment the heavens open and we are touched with Eternity. Our deepest longings are fulfilled in the Presence of the Living Christ!

Perhaps a story will make my point clearer. My good friend, Arnold Lovell, was pastor of a 500-member church in Charleston, West Virginia. There was a member who was homebound. Her name was Hazel Kirk Juliet. Even though she hadn't asked for communion, Arnold decided to take it to her home. So he asked Willis, one of the elders, to accompany him to Miss Hazel Kirk's home.

Arnold had the elder to call and tell her what time they would be there. They drove out to the edge of town and came to the house. It was a modest home, lacking care because Miss Hazel had been an invalid for several years.

Arnold knocked on the door and heard a faint, "Come in." As he and the elder walked in they saw Hazel wrapped up and sitting in a chair by the window peering out. They sat down, spoke a while, then Arnold said, "Miss Hazel, last Sunday was communion day at the church, and it occurred to me that you might appreciate communion, so Willis and I decided to bring it to you."

The got a table from the other room, set up the elements, and as Arnold said the words of Institution, he noticed that Miss Hazel's lips were moving with his words--tears were rolling down her cheeks. She took the bread. She drank the wine. Then a light shone in her face and her eyes were lifted toward heaven. She said, "I see Sally there in the choir--and there is Ann Marie next to her." (Strange, Ann Marie and Sally had been dead for 10 years!)

Then she said, "This is the first time in 7 years I've had communion. I feel like I'm a member of the Body of Christ. I've feel like I have come home again! I'm at home!”

As we eat this bread and drink this wine--the natural "stuff" of home--it all comes together. And, maybe--just maybe, we can say with Miss Hazel Kirk Juliet--"I feel like I'm a member of the Body of Christ--I feel like I've come home!"