Hoping for Home
- Jess Welsh
- Oct 29, 2020
- 9 min read
It's fall here in Germany and while we haven't experienced many European seasons yet, I think fall is shaping up to be a favorite. The leaves are turning shades of mustard and orange, and the summer heat (which was admittedly mild) is replaced by frosty mornings and sun that peaks through clouds, and rains that feed our soil and our trees. Our little village now smells like burning wood as the chimneys kick in and we get deeper and deeper into Autumn. Our desert babies have discovered mud puddles and grass stains and wild mushrooms and fog and their wonder at it has become my own.
October is the lesser celebrated Church history month and I've begun to reflect on this particular part of history more than ever as I contemplate current events in our new temporary homeland. In the 6th grade I sat in a Social Studies class and learned about the reformation for the very first time. My teacher, Ms. Phelps, a short, energetic, and really quality educator had us sit and write out 95 things that we hated. HATED. My life as a suburban, middle class, white female was fairly charmed and I don't think I managed to even make the halfway point for things that I detested. But I remember this exercise to this day, and even now I think back to that German monk on that cold October day not far from where I am now.
As we approach October 31st the heaviness of the reformation and our world weighs more and more on my heart. We drive by churches, and monasteries, and abbeys hundreds of years old. We traipse through cities of cobblestones, chocolates, and history, and it is so beautiful. But these cities hold more than quaint histories and photo ops. We live in this place as foreigners and the strangeness I feel is starting to feel like a familiar friend, and not a guest overstaying their welcome. These streets are not my streets. These statues are not my statues. These cathedrals are not my cathedrals. This is not my home.
It's easy to think back on the past, to people like Gutenberg, Luther, Calvin, Lady Jane Grey, and think that the streets I now walk belong to them. This history is theirs, and I just get to walk in it. But I share something with these great saints, these pillars of the church. We both wander the same streets, along the same river, in the same countries feeling the call of home. There's a gentle whisper that drives my wandering feet. Something that calls my heart away from where I've been, and toward something I only know in hope and faith. I've noticed though, that I've learned to take this call inward to resist looking upward, and instead find numbing agents of home decor, organization, or even books to keep my eyes down, and my feet planted. I get tired of looking up sometimes. It's hard to fix my eyes on other things when what's earthly is so easy to hold, to touch. I almost forget it's a vapor, a shadow, and that my feet and my heart don't belong here.
We went to the hometown of Gutenberg recently and I spent most of the day on the brink of tears. I watched my kids play on the bank of the Rhine and recounted to them the stories of faith that moved people along this very river. We pointed to a church that received news of Luther's excommunication from the Catholic church. And I cried thinking of what I owe to them, and how easy it is to take the life of being a stranger for granted. What I look away from and tend to shirk was something they risked their lives for. They followed their call to sojourn, even if they sojourned unto death.
On these streets I'm reminded of this subtle and profound truth: I am no more foreign here than the people who walked the streets before me. I am no more foreign than Paul was, the Roman persecutor turned missionary as he preached the same Christ he once sought to strike down. I am no more foreign than Martin Luther was when he abandoned his monkish life as he fled through cities all over Germany, his home country. I am no more foreign than Lady Jane Grey, who only saw rule for nine days, but saw truth in the words that Luther posted on an old door, words not even his own! In fact, I likely feel less homeless than they did.
If you're like me and the yo-yo of pandemic research and restrictions makes you feel a thousand pounds heavier than you ever thought you could be. If the strife in America makes it unrecognizable to you. If the anxiety feels like it's about to swallow you whole. I feel it too. I think friends...we should welcome this feeling of "I don't belong...where is this all going" just a little bit more.
There are no motivational speeches that can answer my cry for home. There is no amount of self care that will make this earth like the home I hope for. Our only hope in life in death is Christ, and Christ has not come back...yet. So what do we do? And how do we wait? And Oh Lord, how long? But this is where God's kindness gives us something to hold onto, that keeps us anchored to Him as we journey here.
There is no home for you here, sister, it's true. But, our story does not end here. The good news is that we have one. It may not be here yet. But, it is there and it is waiting for you. And, we even get to see a glimpse of it! It is you and me Christian, together, every week taking communion, singing hallelujah, and proclaiming Christ our King. The church here is a shadow of Heaven, that lives here on Earth...and one day, we will walk home, for good. This doesn't quench our souls but it awakens them, and it reminds us every single week, there is a home and it will be built with us.
Maybe the answer to your anxiety isn't a hot bath and time away from your kids. Maybe the answer to your hurt in politics isn't in the news or research or even voting. Maybe the answer to chaos isn't more schedules, or structures. Maybe the answer to your frustration over the pandemic or healthcare isn't in the government. I think that we should have been feeling homesick like this more to begin with.
We've made this place of brokenness a little too comfortable. The things that make us feel like we belong are actually leading us away from the home that we were made to hope for. As I make my way to sites of great history I'm reminded that even to people who called this place (that doesn't feel like my home) their home...they knew better. These great acts of faith done by those before us though, were not done in showmanship and publicity. John Bunyan wrote Pilgrim's Progress from jail. Was it for royalties? Seriously, no. Martin Luther nailed the 95 theses to the Wittenberg door. Was it to become the head of the catholic church? As if (Yes I'm quoting Clueless here.) Lady Jane Grey sought to make Christianity the official religion of England. Was it to with the popular vote and go down in our history books? Please. So why? Because the Spirit and their own conscience wouldn't let them NOT do it. They acted not out of super human holiness, but out of personal obedience. What changed the world forever for us, was simply their acts of ordinary and personal obedience.
I think our eyes have been wandering away from what is true to what is easy for a long time. And for the hard things we face, we want headlines, and social media tributes, even if we don't want to admit it. We turn our eyes from service to systems of convenience. We turn our eyes from death to cheap living. We turn our eyes to porn instead of meaningful connection. We turn our eyes from communal living to social media driven services. We turn our eyes from the Word to blogs (ahem), social media, and podcasts. We read study notes, instead of studying. We value worship over doctrine. And doctrine over worship. We value self over sacrifice, and everything is off balance. All the while we are making this place of death, a warm little casket for our needy souls. What if we simply put one foot in front of the other on our walk toward holiness knowing that even if it doesn't reach headlines it will reach one another.
"While so many are looking for that rare moment, for that bedazzling glimpse of the other world, the truth is that the other world, in part, is already here. The real miracle isn’t angels in the tops of trees — it’s the miracle of new life at work in us. Until the reality of God’s new creation overwhelms this old one, the way that heaven touches this world now is through his people — by his Spirit, through his people . . . people like you and me."--Parnell Desiring God 2015
I am convinced we do not take this miracle to heart. Sometimes, I tune into the Christ Church ABQ podcast to hear the voices of the people I know reading the weekly text, familiar voices of friends I know that make my homesick heart a little warmer, and to hear the Word preached faithfully. Recently Nathan Sherman quoted Jen Wilkin in explaining that there is no such thing as isolated sin, and likewise, no such thing as non--communal holiness. Our walk in faithfulness is not down a lonely road where only the road bears witness to where our feet have traveled. You and I as brothers and sisters bear witness. We benefit one another with each and every act of faithful obedience. I benefit from your faithful reading of the Word. I receive grace upon grace by your denial of sin and your fight against the flesh. Faithful prayer and study of the word promotes growth in the body even if we can't attribute it to specific individuals and erect monuments in their honor. But it is there none the less. We should be wary of any seed of sin, any spot, any hint of unrighteousness because just as we are richly blessed by the individual deeds of faith in one another, we are also deprived of them when we neglect the Word, prayer, and the fight against flesh.
This is a mystery so foreign to our world that onlookers cannot help but stop and stare. And they should! There is no deed that remains locked behind closed doors, either good or evil. What nonsense this is to a godless world that serves self to the very end, and where consequences for our actions are disregarded and duty to ourselves alone is regarded as heroism. But we know better.
A community growing together toward a single end of endless hallelujahs and ultimate holiness is a beautiful sight to behold. Who could stop the church? Nobody. The very gates of Hell will not prevail. The world so confused by this, and I admit, I wonder at it too, and yet I can't deny it. I know in my soul that my fellow Christian is better off when I am in the Word and in Prayer. I know in my soul that I am generously blessed when my fellow Christian is faithfully living the Word, speaking the truth, and doing ordinary acts of obedience, not unto to me but unto Christ. And I know how much I rob the body when I am forsaking that same call to ordinary obedience to God.
This very virus and election season that seems so wearying and ultimate to us, may just be God's providence in spurring us forward. One more step, Christian. Just one at a time. But one at a time, together, toward Heaven. It may be hard to look up, but the prize is just before you. Let's take this homeless feeling with us to church Sunday and let's let it have its stay. Not just for yourself, but for one another. When the weight of this place and its foreignness feels too heavy, remember you are in good company.
O Spirit, lift our eyes to Jesus Help us see him in your word The Hero of our great redemption Suffering Savior, Risen Lord.
Over clouds of sin and sorrow Raise us up to see our King O, make our hearts to burn within us Open eyes, and we will sing.
O Spirit, lift our hearts to Jesus Make His love our sole delight With ever-living bread from heaven Hungry beggars, satisfy
Overwhelm cold hearts with kindness Wake us with good news of grace O, Lift us up to taste His goodness Come and set our souls ablaze
O Spirit, lift our hands to Jesus Give us strength to do His will With open arms and true compassion His commands we would fulfill
Overcome our hearts’ resistance With the beauty of His scars O, Set us free for love and service Make His hands and heart be ours
Oh Spirit Lift Our Eyes to Jesus Matt Boswell
St. Martin's Cathedral, Mainz Germany (2020)
Circa 975-1011
Rhine River (2020)
Mainz Germany
Notre Dame (2020)
Paris, France
Cathédrale Notre Dame de Strasbourg (July 2020)
Strasbourg France
*This will probably be one of my favorite places in all of Europe.
—"Strasbourg cathedral is an outstanding masterpiece of Gothic art. The construction of the Romanesque cathedral, of which only the crypt and the footprint remain, began in 1015. The spire of the current building, in a Gothic style, was completed in 1439.
Described as "a skilful combination of monumental size and delicateness" by Victor Hugo, its facade offers a fantastic wealth of ornamental features. The 142 m spire is a masterpiece of architectural elegance and intricacy. Up until the 19th century, the cathedral was the highest building in the whole of the Christian world." https://www.visitstrasbourg.fr/en/things-to-see-and-do/visiting/places-to-visit/historical-sites-and-monuments/f223007269_the-cathedral-of-notre-dame-strasbourg/
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