You belong. In good theology and sound doctrine your place in God is certain and assured. None of the ‘Have I done enough?’ for you! God - the trinity- loved each other and the life that was theirs. They decided to share their life. The result is us, the daughters and sons of God. God is relentless in accomplishing the plan. The plan that is their life as our life and ours as theirs. You were made to belong. You have been redeemed to belong. In Jesus you have the ultimate home - the home for which every heart yearns; the home that is your place in God’s heart.
You and your Father are one. This is how Jesus lived. In Jesus we have what is His. And Father, Son and Holy Spirit have a passion to have us!
You have a home. Now and again some good things appear on Facebook - things that are not trite or part of the ‘try harder religion’ of humanism or a jumping through hoops version of Christianity. People put up parables that break through veils and mythologies we have absorbed about God and have embraced as ‘our faith.’ Such observations are none other than ‘revelation’ from the Father. Revelations of Christ that break through into our crippled existence shouting, ‘This is your reality! We have made a home that is real and always there for you. Live in what is yours!’
Growing in Christ often involves leaving behind our misconceptions to live in God’s truth.
‘But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away’ 2 Cor 3.16 NIV. Turning to the Lord can mean turning from religion or Christianity or turning from our own ideas to Jesus to be tutored by Jesus Himself.
In my middle twenties I lived in Sydney. It was my first year as a teacher and found my task stressful and my location in grungy suburban living alienating. Often I would ache to get back home to the farm. Some afternoons, after work, we would drive towards ‘home’ on the Great Western Highway - past Lithgow, Bathurst and Wellington and past Dubbo. Then to Mumble Peg via Narromine, NSW. Mumble Peg was the name of our family property where Mum and Dad had made our home.
There was always a fluorescent light on in the kitchen. At the end of the long journey, you could see the white oblong of the kitchen window having crossed the last ramp. You began the last mini-leg of the journey down the road in the paddock of ‘The Mumble Peg Tree.’ The legend was that burr-cutters, rather than cutting out the obnoxious Bathurst Burrs, had squatted here to play Mumble Peg. By tossing their trusty pen-knives at a grid scratched in the silty soil they gained points. But I digress. Each time I saw this light I pictured Dad in his pajamas and mum in her dressing gown that made her look like a bed, and wondered what they were doing. Could they hear us coming? Would they be surprised when we arrived unannounced having fled the rigours of the Big Smoke?
Slightly later in life I lived in Melbourne. Once I drove all night from Melbourne, spearing through the night at the base of a shaft of light that was my headlights. Sustained by a box of sweets called Coconut Quivers I passed epic like through towns like Albury, West Wyalong, Forbes, Parkes, the noble Alec Town, Peak Hill where there was no hill, the humble Tomingly with its jaunty hall, Narromine with its silos and pubs with lots of beer, and then Mumble Peg. In the pink, pre-dawn light I would switch off my car and announce myself to Mum and Dad in their bedroom situated adjacent the generous and creaky back verandah.
Later still, as a middle aged man, who had survived a divorce and found new comfort, and a new home with a wonderful wife and a loving daughter, I made my way on the annual trek from Melbourne to the Gold Coast. Each December we drove up the Hume Highway from Melbourne to stay briefly with relatives in Sydney. Then on to Coffs Harbour to stay with my wife’s Mum before driving yet further to Queensland and the Gold Coast to visit with my Mum - about 1800 kilometres all told. Mum lived by herself in a unit at Labrador - a strange name for a place so mild in winter and humid in summer.
We arrived jaded but excited to see her again and be drawn into her jolly and copious embrace. Very good humoured was our Mum as well as intelligent and well informed. Now and again I would take a flight and stay by myself, spending time in her company, both of us doing our own thing in the comfort of ‘just being.’ There is much about Mum’s that are a parable of the Father, as strange as that may sound. Which brings me to my point.
Someone posted this on Facebook the other day. It appears to be written from a Mother’s perspective and the overall theme is HOME.
‘One day when my children are grown. I hope they will come through the front door without knocking. I hope they head to the kitchen for a snack and turn on the kettle. I hope that they feel the weight of adulthood leave them for they are home.’
This is not only the yearning of a Mum and a parent. It is the yearning and desire of God - to have you come to what is yours; to your Home in them. You are always at Home in God. Heaven united to secure our Home in the Holy Family. They are not far away. In this age, because of Jesus they come to live in us. Home is where we are because Home came to live in us. How good is that?