Home

Home is where the heart is, the old saying goes. And that's true. What do you do when, as is the case with me and millions of others, the heart at times is torn in two? Frodo didn't completely and fully "go home" until he boarded ship with Gandalf and the elves and sailed to the Undying Lands. I love my wife Shirley very much, and I'm very happy with her, and our home we have here. We are not rich by the world's standards, but God more than meets our needs. We have a lot of love. Our home hosts our parish for Sunday and Wednesday Eucharist, and Morning Prayer and Eucharist weekday mornings. And that adds to this being a special place. So this is home. And it does feel like home. I was reminded this morning, though, that this isn't truly our home.

Everything has limits or is flawed here on this planet. The alarm didn't go off right this morning, and I overslept. The soap dispenser is wanting to jam up this morning, and the toilet paper holder--the same. I'll take my truck in shortly to have a headlight and the cruise control repaired. (Yes, I know, cruise control is a luxury, but if Shirley's going share the driving when we go to see family, with the blood clot in her leg, she'd prefer to have the cruise control working, so her foot and leg doesn't begin to hurt. So would her husband.) We had a great Morning Prayer and Eucharist this morning, commemorating Margaret of Scotland, her heart, and her outreach to those less fortunate; and when I got the house to myself, the music reminds me that we live on a flawed, fallen planet. (what's in the player? Galactic Cowboys and now Coverdale/Page) I, and we, long for that place prepared for us, where everything will be as it should, where we will sorrow or cry no more. No more sin, no more broken relationships, no more suffering and folks being poor. We will be together as one family. My daughter will be with us. All will be well. All will be most well.

Monasteries and hermitages have been called "little pieces of heaven." It has been said that monks and nuns attempt to order their lives so that they experience as much heaven on earth now as is possible, a foretaste of what is to come. And I think that's true. All believers can live in the now with a constant realization that we possess now, in Christ, what we will fully experience after we take our last breath here. (Ephesians 1) We live with that reality and promise, even though we live now as sojourners in a fallen world.

We can allow that truth to sink in, and His Presence now, to bring that home to us--that our home, such as it is and wherever it is--whether in one or two or a few different places, and maybe in a time that we can't get back--is God's Presence and blessing now, a picture and foretaste of what is to come. All the good, the togetherness, and love, that is shared is our piece of heaven now.

A lot of people have a difficult time at the holidays. Memories gone by can't be re-created. Loved ones have passed. Maybe there's a loved one we won't see this year. Our hope, in the holidays and all year, is to find God's Presence with is in the moment, enjoy Him now, and what He has for us now--knowing that all will be full and complete in the future.

The ancient Celtic Christians had "thin places" they frequented--places where the "veil" between earth and heaven seemed to be thinner, and maybe brought God closer to them. Many times a particular spot would be a thin place due to its geography: two things would come together--the shore and the sea, the mountains and the sea, or a lake, a well, geographical anomalies--and God's Presence seemed more intense there.

A sunrise/set seems to be that for many of us. Maybe during the holiday season, each of us can stop whatever we're doing, and go to a thin place, and enjoy God. Find and see Him there. Find a Peniel, and see the face of God, even for a moment. And receive strength for the journey.

Frodo thought that raising the Shire would do it for him. It helped, but not fully. He had carried the ring too long and had felt Shelob's sting. He needed more, more than he could get in the Shire. To be fully healed, he had to go to a place where that could happen. Sam could remain and have a wife and children, and enjoy the Shire, but eventually it was wondered if he wouldn't have to take ship and go, too. So it is with all of us. I'm reminded of the Kansas song "Peaceful and Warm"--when we go back home it's not the same, but we long for that. We need to be warm, whole, and healed in Christ. We have a measure of it here, and I pray we all enjoy that now. Yet there is that time coming, where we take ship, as it were, and go to that place where we shall see Him, and be fully healed, body, mind, and spirit.

The old spiritual goes--"This world is not my home...I'm just passin' through.................."


I pray you have a blessed and warm holiday season,
fr francis