Coming Home

2 Corinthians. 5:1-10 We begin with, of all people, my favorite children's author; Dr. Seuss.

"Congratulations! Today is your day.
You're off to great places! You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And you are the guy who'll decide where to go.

You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there.
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course, you'll head straight out of town.

It's opener there in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen and frequently do
to people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along. You'll start happening too.
Oh! The places you'll go!

In truth, my sabbatical was a combination of wonderful and various experiences. It was the first opportunity I'd had to do some truly interesting reading at length. I discovered an interesting theologian and scholar who laid out some different perspectives of what it means to be a disciple of Christ. He opened some of the scriptures in ways I’d not thought about.

I also revisited an author I hadn’t read in quite a long time. Anne Lamott is a laywoman whose words and thoughts about faith in daily life are both earthy and thought-provoking. She told stories from her own life, stories that made her faith relevant to her everyday experiences. They were the kinds of stories any of us could also tell.

We all fill our cup of contentment in different ways so, on a personal note, Joanne and I had some very special time with family and friends. The grandchildren grow oh-too-quickly, so we took some time to catch up with them. And there were those moments when nothing was going on, just those random opportunities to just “be” as I wrote some time ago in the spirit. Now it wasn’t all smooth sailing. We had a few unplanned adventures, particularly in our motor-home. I’m glad to say that nothing serious got broken, and no one was injured, but there were those times when you wished you didn't have to deal with some aggravating situations. Finally, there were some mission opportunities. I spent some time with one of the chaplains of Seafarer’s Friend, a uniquely New England organization that provides a special ministry to the men and woman who serve aboard commercial vessels like oil tankers and cargo ships. These sailors are usually from foreign countries and haven’t seen their family and friends for months at a time. Seafarer’s Friend plays the role of a friendly face in a strange land. In a very real sense, the chaplains of Seafarer’s Friend are hands and heart and hospitality of Christ.

There was one other mission experience that I will talk more about in a minute, but for now I just want to say how nice it is to be back. It almost seems like I’ve never been away. Here we are again, gathered in worship as the body of Christ. The summer season is waning and it almost feels like we are all coming home, getting back to routines, returning to what is familiar to us.

As the sermon title suggests, the idea of coming home sort of captured my attention and imagination.

I'm not sure what home means to you. For myself, it is decidedly New England, it is Maine. Joanne and I have lived in a variety of places, and we've done a fair amount of traveling, but I believe that at heart we consider ourselves Mainers. Okay, we are from away, but we always feel like we are coming back home to Maine.

The ideas of home and place are something that I think are really quite common.

As I’ve said, there was another mission project I wanted to tell you about. In late June, I spent some time in Alderson, West Virginia. Some of you with a keen ear for trivia may remember that Alderson, West Virginia, is the location of the federal prison where Martha Stewart spent some time. I didn't see the prison because I was part of a group of forty people who came from various parts of the United States to help local families rebuild or renovate their homes. I was one of eight people who helped to refurbish a tiny house for a growing family of five. I’ll tell you, at times, it was hard work, but there was also a sense of camaraderie, a shared experience with new friends. It was good work that we were doing. I even ended up with a t-shirt that says, "getting dirty for Jesus."

By happy coincidence, our entire group was in Alderson for the Fourth of July. Now, the Fourth of July is a big deal in Alderson. The entire town turns out for a day of reunions, concerts and cookouts, a grand parade and of course some fireworks after dark. It’s just your average small-town, all-American celebration.

As I was standing and watching the parade that day, a woman nearby asked me if I was visiting family. "No," I said, "I'm here with a church work group." "Oh, I can tell by your accent that you don't come from here," she said. "No, I don't. I live in New England, in Maine." "Oh," she said. "I've never been there, but I've heard some nice things about the seashore. I would love to visit there someday but, the thing is, I grew up here in the mountains and I don't think I could ever leave here. If I did, it wouldn’t be for very long because this is home to me."

And there it was, someone else who realizes what home feels like.

To my mind, home is where you most feel comfortable. It’s a place where you can be yourself, a place that is unlike any other place. Home occupies a place in your heart that no other place ever could. Home is a place where, as Stephen King says, “you know where all the roads lead.”

In the context of our faith, the apostle Paul had some things to say about home. In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul gives us a new perspective and context about house and home.

In previous verses, Paul had been talking about having this treasure of Jesus Christ and the good news in what he called clay Jars. We live a very human life, he said. We live our life in mortal bodies that are prone to aches and pains, sadness and suffering of all sorts. In a very real sense, we are not unlike the buildings we construct to live in, prone to cracks and faults and weaknesses. We may love and enjoy the house and home in which we live, but there will always be the possibility that something is going to break, something is not going to be just like we want it to be. By the same token, we may love our life, and we may adore our families and friends and our companions, but distress and heartbreak can be around the corner for any of us. Nevertheless, we know as Paul knew that, as he writes to the Corinthians, "if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from god, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands."

Paul was a keen observer of human life. In his early years, he had lived a life of wealth and privilege. But when christ came into his life, he gave it all up to live the live of a disciple who knows his need of god's love and guidance for even the most basic of necessities. His message to the Corinthians, and indeed to anyone who would heed his words, was that this life is oh-so-transitory. "this world is not my home; 'I'm just passin' through," the folk song says, and how true that is. The larger lesson, and perhaps the more important lesson, is that god has seen fit to provide a home which is not built by human hands, a home which is incorruptable, a home which will endure for all eternity. Like the woman in West Virginia, we may wax poetic about our special corner of god's great, green creation, but in the end, this is only a waystop to something grander, something more enduring. I am returning from sabbatical, many of us are returning to our family life here in the church to reaffirm those kinds of promises, to reaffirm them and to celebrate them. Half in jest, my wife suggested that i use the story of the prodigal son as the scripture today. It's the story of someone who goes off for a period of time to waste his father's wealth. I don't really want to believe i squandered any money during my sabbatical, but that parable points out that, at sometime or another, surely all of us are wanderers.

I suspect that we all have some sort of a penchant for going off and doing our own thing, finding joy and happiness where we can. But sooner of later, something stirs within us and we feel the need to come home. The lesson of the story of the prodigal son is that there was a loving father waiting at the end of the road with arms outstretched and a banquet all prepared.

I wonder: is that not why we all come together here for worship, to give thanks for the loving father who waits patiently for us to return?

As we all settle into the routines and responsibilities of a new church year, with thanks to the god of a loving and patient heart, a god whose hospitality is beyond description, i say welcome home! Welcome home to us all!

Amen.