Home Sweet Home
I write to you from inside the whirlwind—my wife and I have crashed with my in-laws for a week and half to look at apartments in Chicago. After spending the first 8 years of our marriage in Pittsburgh, we’ll be heading to Chicago in March for my other job (community engagement editor at the Christian Century). Ashley will be able to keep her job when we move, and I’ll still be here in my role at Harbor.
As of this writing, we have viewed 9 apartments this weekend. Driving all over this snowy city and meeting realtor after realtor, it really has felt like a whirlwind.
I got to thinking about the theological significance, if any, of this apartment marathon. What are we really doing here? Are we just comparing Apartment A and B’s square footage? Apartment C and D’s kitchen upgrades? Apartment E and F’s nearby yapping dogs?
Sure, we were doing all these things. But on a deeper level, we were looking for home.
Home: What’s Up with That?
The idea of “home” is theologically rich. It is—we hope, anyway—a safe space. A place for family and closest friends. A spring of love and belonging.
For this reason, we smile when we hear Jesus’ words to his disciples: “In God’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?” Or, as The Message renders it, “Trust me. There is plenty of room for you in my Father’s home.” I know that in the past I’ve read this passage solely though a lens of self-assured eternity in heaven: just as Jesus went to prepare a place for the first disciples, so he will prepare a place for me. I’m going to live forever!
We don’t necessarily need to throw out this type of reading, but perhaps we could stand to enrich it. Jesus doesn’t say he’s buying us a ticket to Heaven Station or putting in our reservation at God Hotel. He says he is going to prepare a living space inside God’s own home. God’s home will be the disciples’ home. Our home.
We have a home.
This imagery is far more meaningful than some logical, forensic guarantee of eternal life. It means that we, perhaps in a future that we can’t yet see, have a place that is safe. Where we belong. Where we can laugh and eat and know each other. Where we can fully experience love for God and others.
Home as Harbor
It is no real coincidence, I think, that two things we put such a premium on at Harbor are safety and belonging.
One of the guidelines we observe at each of our Zoom gatherings states that “this space is safe,” which is why the only hard and fast “rule” we have for the speech in our meetings is that it will not be used to dehumanize people.
On the Get Involved page of our website, where it describes our weekly gatherings, it says, “If you want to belong, you belong.” This is the most expansive view of belonging we could come up with—a belonging rooted in desire. This, too, is a deeply theological notion: God desires all people and peoples to belong with each other and with God.
Did we find a home in Chicago this weekend? We hope so! We’re in the process of applying to rent one of the apartments we visited. If that application does work out, it’s still impossible to say how long we’ll live anywhere in this unpredictable world. Years? Days?
The length of time doesn’t matter. Most of us will have many places we call home over the course of our lives. What matters is whether this apartment will be a safe harbor marked by connection, growth, joy, and belonging.
If so, it will be a sweet home indeed.
