Today I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. I found an old, old hymnal – one from back when I was just a child in church. Then I sat at the piano and started playing through some of my favorites. Most of them no one sings anymore, unless they’re surrounded by rocking chairs on a Bill Gaither Homecoming video.
If you’re one of those folks who hates new worship songs, you’re at the wrong place. I love all music that exalts God, new or old. Anyone who only likes the old is just being silly. Or selfish.
As I sat and played, a wave of something swept over me that I initially chalked up to nostalgia. Then I began to realize it was something more.
I sat at that piano overcome by a sort of melancholy longing. Not a longing for the past so much. But like the past, it was a longer for a place that no longer exists on this earth.
Longing for a home, but a home far away.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to a simpler time and place in my life. I’m starting to understand the old timers and how they clung to traditions. This new world scares me quite a bit – so much of what happens now makes no sense to me. The hatefulness I see in people grieves me daily. I do my little part to help, but so often I feel like I’m bailing water on the Titanic…with a teaspoon.
The past seemed so much simpler compared to what we’re facing now, but I guess it seemed that way to every generation before me. However, it’s hard to deny that the world is going a bit mad now, despite what many will tell you to the contrary. Too many of the most basic moral values are ignored now or out right ridiculed. People are so incredibly selfish and hateful toward one another, but don’t seem to feel guilty about it.
I’m afraid we’ve forgotten how to feel guilty. The psychologists and motivational speakers have brainwashed all feelings of shame from us. Sadly, our actions only become more shameful in response.
Frankly, I feel lost here. Not lost from God – He knows where I am – it’s me who doesn’t! It’s like wandering through a dark, misty wood, trying to find a path toward an unclear destination. You’d think if I’m lost, I could just turn around and head back home. But I’m not sure I know the way back to where I came from either. And even if I could find it, God wouldn’t want me to take it.
My true home is not found by retracing my steps, but by moving forward. My true home is out somewhere in front of me, at the end of this path.
The upside is that in this brave new world, I’ve grown as a person, and my gifts have now blossomed into a ministry I never dreamed of before. I’ve moved beyond earlier rest stops of safety and security, where the burden of leading laid upon someone else. Now that burden is upon me, and I long for easier times.
I don’t know that I’ll ever feel “at home” again. At least in this life.
Right now, I’m a pilgrim. I’m a missionary, far from a home I’ve yet to see. It reminds me of how the children of Israel responded when taken into captivity.
By the rivers of Babylon,
There we sat down, yea, we wept
When we remembered Zion.
We hung our harps
Upon the willows in the midst of it.
For there those who carried us away captive asked of us a song,
And those who plundered us requested mirth,
Saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
How shall we sing the Lord’s song
In a foreign land? – Psalm 137
Sometimes it’s tough to keep singing the songs of home when your surroundings look so foreign to anything resembling home.
I think I finally understand now why so many old timers loved singing those hymns about heaven. From those old songs, I was reminded how I shouldn’t feel at home on this earth:
“This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through…”
That’s not only good theology, it’s a helpful mindset. When I came to Christ, I became the citizen of a far away Kingdom. The time I have left on this earth is to be spent doing the work of my King, though I’m doing it in exile. So it makes sense I feel lost and lonesome for home.
In fact, if you don’t feel out of place here, that’s something to truly be worried about. You may not really be a citizen of that coming Kingdom.
The hymns from hundreds of days spent sitting in the darkly-stained pews of my youth call out to me now. Their forlorn cry is like the howl of a wolf roaming through a cold, misty night. I sit and sing them, wishing for a home I know I cannot have yet.
Maybe one day soon, I’ll round a corner and find my way to that as yet unseen “home”. I’ll take a sudden gulp of that rarified air and push my way through that “eastern sky”.
Don’t get me wrong, I won’t give up the good fight until God says it’s my time. But as soon as He does, I’m ready. I’m so ready to sing those songs again.
But on that day, I’ll be sitting in the very place I’m singing about.
If you look for me, you’ll find me there – second pew from the front. I always liked to sit down front – didn’t want to miss anything. Hopefully, I’ll be sitting in my Father’s lap. Everything there will make sense, coming logically together like that last piece that fits the one remaining hole in the puzzle perfectly.
I’ll finally be home. The few questions that remain from this life will dissolve unimportantly into the crystalline streams flowing from His throne.
In that day, we will happily abandon the old songs. We will sing a new song, for all things will be made new.
“And we will understand it better, by and by…”
