Homecoming

I love to hop in my car and just drive sometimes. I'll get a thought in my head that I feel like thinking through, and will just jump into my Grand Am and hit the road for hours at a time. I've found that I've been forced to change that pattern lately though. As gas prices have gone up through the roof, and the miles on my car have steadily climbed past the 100,000 miles mark, I've taken to reflecting on my thoughts in a new place. It's about 10:30 at night and I'm sitting in the dark sanctuary at First Pres. I first came and sat here last week as I was thinking through my sermon on Elijah's encounter with God in complete silence on Mount Horeb. As I was sitting there reflecting on what silence sounded like I realized all the noise that we don't even notice in our lives. I could hear the century old building creak and moan, and the occasional car drive by on the street outside the beautiful stained glass windows. I could hear the wind as it softly whispered by the steeple above me. I could also hear the steady click, click, click of the inexpensive plastic clock that hangs above the doors in the rear; a gentle reminder to the pastor that our lives are so important that we often times are unwilling to give more then the weekly sacred hour to our faith. That though is another post altogether, for when I am in a different mood.
I spent some time today speaking with good friends back in Colorado, preparing for my trip there in August. It seems that no matter how much time I spend when I go back, I never have even a minute to slow down and relax. That's very depressing in some ways, and in others it's a great feeling to have so many people that I care about, and who care about me that I want to make sure I schedule to see. I miss my home. I think about Loveland often, and I long for the daily view of the Rocky Mountains that I took for granted living in my childhood home. I miss the dry climate, and the 300 plus days of sunshine. I miss smelling pine trees as I drive up the Big Thompson Canyon toward Estes Park. I miss my friends. I miss my church. I miss my home.
I was watching a movie tonight on cable TV that I really never wanted to see, but got stuck on while channel surfing tonight. It has one of my favorite actresses though and got me to thinking about our love for home; our love for the comfort of being where we belong. In this movie, the girl had everything she could ever want, but she was willing to give it all up; wealth, fame, comfort, and even love, to return to the place in the world that was home. I have given up on ever being able to return to Loveland to live. I would be willing to bet that I won't be living in my beloved Colorado anytime soon in my life. I firmly believe that any place can become home, and that it's the friends and memories of a place that you make that will eventually become home. I have that kind of feeling with Dubuque and the community of the seminary. I will someday leave that home as well to follow the call Jesus has put on my life and I'm happy with that. I will always have a place in my heart for Colorado though. There is something about sitting on my rock at Pinewood reservoir that makes me feel closer to God. There is something about laying on the hood of my car, looking at the stars from Rocky Mountain National Park that puts meaning in my faith. There is something about sitting around a mountain campfire at Highlands Camp that lets me know God is speaking to me personally, that I don't get in Iowa, or Wisconsin.
There is one other home that gathered new meaning for me this week though. I led my first funeral service this weekend. It was a remarkable experience for a man who did some remarkable things. He was a teacher who still was in contact with many of his old students, calling many of them weekly. This is remarkable enough in itself, but becomes even more remarkable when you realize these students graduated high school 50 years ago, and that this gentleman was 90 years old. I found it fitting that as somebody known his whole life as an educator was still helping to educate me, even following his death. It was a bit of a struggle for me to plan and prepare for the funeral, but it's something that I really found a lot of pleasure doing. I have heard many pastors say they would rather do a funeral then a wedding service, and I can see why (but I'm not willing to say that statement yet). Planning a sermon and the rest of the service helped open my eyes to the true meaning of a funeral service, and the joy that can come from celebrating the life of somebody who has come and gone before us. It's a reminder that this is a time of celebration as somebody through the power of Christ's resurrection from death on the cross, has finally gone home. That somebody has gone to a home that we long for even more then our homes here on earth. That a 90 year old named Norm has gone to a home that is better then even the Colorado home I still miss. It's great to go home!