Sermons In Time

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Old Testament: Genesis 32:22-32

Gospel: Matthew 10:34-42

During the past few days, I have been recalling scenes from my childhood. I grew up in a small town neighborhood of Wichita. There was our home, the church, the school, Mr. Gibson's grocery store where we shopped for food. Just a few blocks away was the office where my dad worked. As a youth, my first job was to carry the Wichita Eagle. It went morning, evening and Sunday to the 250 homes in the eight blocks around our home. My "Small Town" was about eight by ten blocks in size. Today, I have many stories that come out of that small town.

Every once in a while, it becomes important for me to go back and visit the place where I grew up. None of the people I knew when I was a child live there any more. The last time I was there, I was nostalgic for days of long ago. It was enjoyable seeing all the familiar places. The River was where we played football. The old "ghost house" behind our home was less formidable. The house we lived in when I was a very small child was like a child's garden of verses. There was the house my mother and dad built in 1941.

The people, the sounds, and the stories were not there. They were all in my head.

1. Yet, the memories were very rich. I had a good and happy Childhood. My parents were lower middle class, and we did not have many of this world's goods. They were good people, very good to each other and to their children. The place, because of my memories, felt very much like home. It was my own, my native land.

Often I think of those days as a child, and realize how important the family was. There are memories of teachers in school, and I cherish the memory of learning to read. I remember the joy of Mathematics, of history and geography. School was never boring and never difficult. Learning something new was a daily adventure. The Church was there. How much fun it was to be a sixth grader and sing the "Church in the Wildwood" in Sunday School. When you got to be a sixth grader, the boys sat on the back row. They all sang, "O come, come, come, come, come to the Church in the wildwood...."

The stories could go on all morning. The point is, it was home, and I was enjoying the memory of being at home with my family and remembering how important we all were to each other.

. It was a privilege for us to go to Church and worship on what dad always called "our day." Then, there was the public school. It was a place where dedicated teachers gave their entire lives to the teaching of those of us who were young and eager to know. The memory of friendships, boys and girls whom I have not seen for many years, remain in my mind.

Today, I cherish living in a place where the memories of childhood can be very rich. I wish for everyone the wholesome memories of home.

There is not a single day I remember being afraid. Not even the day the dust clouds came in like a massive storm. The storm blocked our vision for several hours and filled our house with dirt a half inch thick!

This is my own, my native land.

2. Today you have memories as rich as mine. My wife, my children, those whom I have known well, each of us has a different story to tell. It is the same story of the joy of being at home in this land. The story is of our common and our unique history. The story is of our first firecrackers. The story tells of the first time we went to a fireworks show. The story is of our first picnic, our first political rally. The memory is of the first time we met a President of the United States. The story is of our land, and the feelings we had when people laughed when they found out we were from Kansas. It is the story of our laughing when we went to Arkansas and looked everywhere for hillbillies. Looking, we discovered instead the foolishness of such a quest. Instead, we learned the story of the love for land and history of those who were residents of other places.

Each story reminds us that home is important to everyone. The memories of our own history help to give us identity. They let us know who we are, and where our roots are. Each story has a graveyard where those are who lived before us. Some died in battle. Some died in living out their lives devoted to their jobs and their families. I still remember as a young child going to the cemetery when my grandmother died. There I saw the graves of all of her relatives, and realized "these are my people." One never tires of hearing about who people are. We want to know their family roots. We want to know what their own history means to them.

3. It is a reminder that people everywhere have their story. I saw a film the other day from Russia featuring Sam Donaldson and Diane Sawyer. To hear them tell of the times and ways Russia had suffered and developed through the centuries . As they told the stories about the Tsars and their insanity, it was very understandable why the Revolution came. We could appreciate why a massive wall encloses the Kremlin. It was easy to see why Russians would be suspicious of any foreign country. They would naturally be eager to protect themselves. Actually, it is surprising there is Glastnost at all!

What strikes me as important is that you and I are not the only ones who have a love for this, our native land. Around the world, others have a similar love for the place of their birth. They value the scenes of their childhood, the memories of their own history. It is not appropriate to laugh at those histories or those cultures. How important it is to understand the value of every person's uniqueness! We must become acquainted with customs of Africa and Asia and India. We must respect those from Arkansas or Oklahoma or Kansas. Important treasures of personal history belong to everyone.

4. One does hurt for those who have no home. Not only the homeless of the streets, but those who have no sacred place, no history to claim as their own. What is the most appropriate response when those, who are angry because they do not have, become disrespectful in their actions? Jesus said, "A soft answer turns away wrath." Certainly, some such response in needed for those who burn flags and in other ways express the void in their lives.

It is also important to remember there are the homeless who are still trying to live in a place which they once called home. When one realizes what damage the tornados did in our own State, and the cost of rebuilding, it is almost overwhelming to look at a place like Iran. There, thousands have died and are dying, Little is left to call home. Yet, that is where their heart is. It is the place they cherish.

5. When I went back to the scenes of my childhood, I realized little is there which is still a part of my life. Gloria and I had an experience the other day even more shocking. We went by the church where we married. Someone is tearing it down, no longer to be a church of any kind. Gloria's lament was even greater than mine. The house where she was born, the house where her parents lived and worked after our marriage, is gone. The school she attended is no longer there. Now the church building of her childhood will soon be gone too.

The Loss was a reminder of even a greater truth. It is a truth of faith. The gospel song puts it this way: "This world is not my home, I'm just a passing through. My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue." We are reminded that we are sojourners. We are those who pass through this life, and nothing about it is permanent. Little of this world has eternal significance. "Only that which is heavenly will endure."

Our life is not in the old neighborhood where I grew up. Life is not in the Church building where we married. Life is not in the schools which are no longer there.

Our life is in Christ Jesus. Home is in Christ Jesus. He is our hope. Only in Christ is that which lasts eternally. When one puts their life in this worlds goods moth and rust do corrupt, thieves do break through and steal. We are those who have a homeland which is Spirit and Truth. Home is where the heart is, and we have entrusted our hearts to the God who is unseen, yet is nearer than breathing.

In that home, the home of the Spirit, we live, and move, and have our being. No other can sustain us. We are together in the Lord.

Amen.

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