Homebound

Today's blog post continues my exploration of Christ inviting us to become fully alive, this time through the idea of coming home.

In these times of working from home, I have been involuntarily remembering the various places in my life that I have called 'home.'

The Isle of Iona

One such place is the Isle of Iona, Scotland, where I felt at home on my first visit.

I remember approaching Iona on the ferry. It was a sunny day, and I scanned the hills and housetops until I located the abbey, difficult to see at first because it resembled a large stone, blending in with the landscape. The place felt familiar, even though I had never seen it or been there before.

My class with whom I was travelling was early, so when we arrived, we waited outside. I don't remember who started it, but eventually most of us sat or lay on the lawn in front of the abbey refectory soaking in the sun.

Our professor was the only one standing. 'You look like you're at home!' she told us all -- at first admonishingly, and then I think realising the significance of what she had said.

Reminiscing comes with some sadness, realising that those chapters have ended, but also with the hope that I can still learn something from them. I remember with fondness the woods and creeks of Indiana, through which I wandered for three years while learning about God and people -- but if I were to go back and visit, I could not recapture the experience of being a student there. Still, I hope my wife and I can visit one day to honour that time of my life.

Another example: every year, when we visit my family in my hometown, I increasingly realise that the city of San Diego is no longer my home in the way it once was; I no longer call the place where we stay 'home,' but rather 'my parents' house.' Still, I remain connected with my family there, whom I will always love.

Perhaps my nostalgia points to a desire to settle, connect and find security. My wife and I hope to more deeply call our current location 'home,' but I especially mean settling spiritually: putting down roots in Christ.

I think this is what St John the Evangelist means when he says of Christ, 'In him was life, and that life was the light of people' (John 1:4).

John writes this in the midst of describing how God created the world through Christ. Thus, John is suggesting that everything, even our innermost being, ultimately belongs to Christ.

In him we find our true home and our life, like the leaves of a beech tree in early spring coming alive, flooded with nutrient-producing sunlight.

Unlike our current existence, the life Christ gives us does not fade or end, but rather fulfils us with the life that we were created for, illuminating and transforming everything we do.

Perhaps all of the experiences I have had of 'home' -- of belonging, of connecting, of being secure -- came, in the end, from Christ, although I did not recognise him at the time.

Thus, our true home is not buried in the past, nor is it confined to our present circumstances. Our home is Christ. He and his people, both living and those who have 'fallen asleep' (1 Thess. 4:14-15), are our family; our native country is the kingdom of God, which has come and is still coming in all its fullness.