Home Sweet Home
Last time, I wrote about the good news for all of us that we have a permanent home awaiting us. Since then, I have begun reading Madeleine L’Engle’s The Rock That is Higher: Story As Truth and her first chapter, “Story as Homecoming.” She wrote in the context of her hospital room far from home, following quite serious injuries in a car accident, and reflected on the truths in the stories of David, Daniel, and Jesus.
I have often noted how much people in hospitals and nursing homes want to be home. Twice my Mom spent time in nursing care, once following an accident and more recently after surgery. It was obvious how much she wanted to be in the familiar surroundings of her own house, even though, by this last time, she was living alone. In part, home is about seeing things that are your own, pictures of your own life, and a place that looks like it belongs to your.
Of course, as L’Engle notes, home is much, much more than that. Home is about relationships, about being with people you love and who love you. Home is about life, what Jesus described as life more abundant. Home is about oneness, unity, communion, communication, reconciliation, and not division, strife, and alienation. That’s why home is never quite here and now.
What a wonderful grace from God it is that we get glimpses of home; we have moments that are foretastes of eternity. Those are the times when we are truly joyful, even ecstatic; C. S. Lewis even wrote about it, calling it Surprised by Joy. One kind of preview for me is musical, but not just any music. When I get a feeling of heaven is, more often than not, when I hear a really exceptional choir. The voices sing in perfect harmony, the music is either a long-time favorite composition or is a newfound delight, and the sound of their singing is glorious. When I hear such music, I always want to sing! Pipe organs have a similar effect.
Other experiences that give tantalizing hints of future bliss are excellent meals. For some reason, for me those are often German; I love wiener schnitzel, red cabbage, and hot German potato salad, and horseradish is an absolute necessity. I seem to find almost perverse delight in the sensation of losing my breathe from the unique heat that fresh horse radish provides and having just slightly too much. Is such a meal, somehow, a connection to my German heritage? Is that why it offers such a pleasant, homey afterglow?
We all get foretastes, and we all feel a sense of loss. We all look forward to things that we never quite accomplish. One of my former students published a blog with 70 things he wants to do before he dies. His goal is to live life fully, and if he remains focused, I expect he will live well. Still, I can guarantee that he will never achieve his complete list; and, in the unlikely case he does, he won’t be satisfied. Either his list will have changed (They always do!), or he will no longer be satisfied with his earlier dreams (We never are).
My list, once, would have included marriage, children, and by now grandchildren. It still would have a hope for really close friendships, something that has seemed to elude me. I have often imagined a spacious home where I could provide hospitality and entertain, a larger bank account that would permit greater generosity, and traveling to places with a least one close friend. I dream of doing other things, like starting a school for immigrants and refugees, indeed a large number of such schools in cities across the nation. Some of those things may happen; many will not. This world is not my home. Those wishes, hopes, dreams, and disappointments point ahead to Home, and it is there, waiting for us, sweet, good news.