I may have mentioned this previously, but my parents just sold the house last month. Ever since my parents told us they were separating two years ago, I’ve known this day would come, but it’s finally here. My dad has had his own place for about a year now, and my mom and two youngest sibs will be moving into an apartment next week.
I was born in Boston but moved to Bloomfield, NJ at the age of two amidst the strong urging of my parents. Bloomfield is the only home I knew until I went to college. Even after college, living with the guys, and then living with my wife in the greater Philly region, I still occasionally referred to visiting North Jersey as “going home.” Well, “home” is gone.
I don’t like it. I don’t like my parents splitting up, or my siblings being forced to move, or my parents having to get rid of so much stuff to make room in smaller apartments. A married son with no children in his mid-twenties, hoping to move next year for doctoral studies or overseas missions, shouldn’t have to figure out how to fit family heirlooms into his one-bedroom apartment just to keep them in the family. Young adult daughters, like my sister, should be able to circumnavigate the world (Juarez, Oxford, Amsterdam, Philadelphia) knowing that there’s a stable place to come home to.
And there will always be home–somewhere. It may not be on Broad St. in Bloomfield, but home will be with my mom and sibs, with my dad, or with my in-laws. Still, I say with Mr. Robinson, “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it.” Prone to wander, in every sense.
My citizenship is in heaven. But as Tom Wright has demonstrated, that doesn’t mean that I’m supposed to live there, but I’m supposed to live as the Emperor’s emissary here:
“The point about citizenship (in Phil. 3) is a point about status and allegiance, not about place of residence….[The citizens’] task was to live in the colony by the rules of the mother city, not to yearn to go home again. What they might need from time to time was not a trip back to Rome, but for the emperor to come from Rome to deliver them from any local difficulties they were having.” (The Resurrection of the Son of God, p. 230)
Marana tha! Come, Lord Jesus.