Thoughts on the Pilgrimage

"They confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland."--Hebrews 11:13-14

So right about this point, dear readers, you may be wondering about the title of this blog: why it was chosen, what it means, and etc. For your enjoyment/amusement, I will try to offer an explanation.

During the summer after my senior year of high school, my family moved down to Houston, Texas and I had the delight of being sent down with them. The irony was that I had lived in Omaha, NE for 11 years before the move, hating the whole state ever since we first set foot in it and begging my parents periodically for a move. Well, I finally got one. Unfortunately, it only came right before I was about to move away myself.

It has been difficult coming back to my "new home" in Houston for Christmas and summer breaks. There has not been a time since we moved down here that I have been able to stick around long enough to put down roots or establish myself. Because of this, every time I come back the reality of the situation slaps me in the face. I might as well be a tourist in this city (in fact, my family even refers to me sometimes as a guest). I have not been here long enough to make friends, and time here is spent far away from my old ones. It is still hard for me to find my way around in my car, and I can get disoriented just running errands. I can't get comfortable in the room in which I now live, since I haven't spent more than four consecutive months in it. I could not refer to this place as home by any stretch of the imagination.

Yet, on trips that I have taken back to Omaha to visit my father and my friends, I have found myself unable to return like a prodigal on the way back to the family farm (that was a metaphor, not everyone in Nebraska lives on a farm). That place has my past, my memories. Yet I find it awkward sometimes to be with old friends, catching up on a year's worth of happenings in the space of a few days, not to mention the changes have both gone through in the interim. Our old home was sold to people who put ugly wooden flowers in the yard and don't take advantage of the beckoning wilds of Pinesacott, which stretches behind the house. And of course, West O where I grew up is the building capital of the world, so everytime I go back, acres of new shopping centers have sprung up and rearranged scenery that was once familiar. Hmmm...now what?

Houghton is more my home now than anywhere, but if I ever stop to think about it (which I avoid doing because the thought is painful) I am only passing through in the strictest sense of the words. There are only two more short years in my college career and after that I will be thrust out into the howling wasteland we know as the "real world."

Okay, what exactly is the point of all this? During my Mayterm in Mexico, Profe told us that missionaries are happiest on an airplane, because they don't quite belong in either the culture they just left or the one they are heading towards. On the plane they can look forward to the good points of the culture they are heading too, forgetting all the negatives and the inevitable awkwardness of realizing that they don't fit. But the only time they truly feel at home is when they're in limbo. This feeling of uneasiness lead somebody to coin the phrase Pilgrim Principle, which basically says that this feeling keeps us liberated from being entangled by the things of this world so we can know with greater clarity that our only true home is in heaven.

I say that's crap. While it may be true enough, it is tougher to deal with living it out in flesh-and-blood existence than it sounds when it's so nicely packaged with its alliterative title. I can't speak for everybody, but I truly ache for whatever it is that we mean by "home." I want a place to belong, a place that's safe and familiar. I want a place with people who love me and want to see me grow. When times are tough, it is even harder not to have those things; those are the times that awaken desires in me for freedom, for real life, for fulfillment and purpose. I want to go home.

But for now I know I'm only a pilgrim, and pilgrims have to live with that ache. I set my sights on where the lights are warm and the people are loving, but for now I see that place only as a tiny speck at the end of a long road. All I can do is try to do all the good I can for my fellow pilgrims and for anyone else I meet along the journey. I'm not a fan of those who let themselves get lost in daydreams of flying away to stardust and clouds of glory. All we have to work with is the here and now. And by God's grace, I hope to do the best I can with what I've got, and maybe permit myself just an occassional glance over the River Jordan.