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TowniesSaturday, April 1, 2017
From John 7 Not so much now. I love Champaign-Urbana. Our house is fine, our neighborhood is OK, but there is something more. Returning to this town lifts my spirit. Some of the famous folks who grew up here write about it in the same way. Roger Ebert, George Will, Robert Novak, Alison Krauss, Bonnie Blair all have their fond memories. I am glad to have my present moment. When we head up Lincoln Avenue and pull into our driveway looking straight into the ivy-covered backyard fence, my body is stiff and sore. But I feel a lightness of being usually associated with grand vistas, sunsets, national park overlooks. Home. Where my heart is. I think of Jesus as he falls asleep on the ground, no place to lay his head. Is he lonely? Wistful, surely. Wondering at times about his neighbors and his family in Nazareth, where he is no longer welcome. His memories of days before in Bethlehem and Egypt might have been dim or non-existent. Where was he born, anyway? Where was he from? Could he be comfortable in his own skin with such sketchy history? "Who is my mother? Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother." The sadness in those words edges into bitter. Sometimes even Jesus may have felt lost. Christians claim the same homelessness as Jesus. This world is not my home, I'm just a passin' through. My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue. Slave work songs, adopted by prison gangs and adapted into gospel songs. Over in glory land, there'll be no dyin' there. O brother, where art thou? Just a few more weary days, and then I'll fly away. Sad, sweet, waiting. Righteous, sometimes bitter, unsettled. The adjectives don't stop coming. But I hear Jesus holler, "Stop that!" This is where we are right now, the crop is ripe, and we have a chance to love and heal and retrace the steps of Adam and Eve back into the garden. Listen to the warm, yes, but get up in the morning and listen to the hoedown. See what God has got for you today. Jesus, you show me how to be home no matter where. I can't go home again; I'm always always there. Heaven stares me down. Stop leaning on the wall; we're dancing now. Come ... you say. "You too." |
We come and go a lot, visiting grandkids, visiting my mom, getting in the car and going away. Coming back after a good trip used to be kind of a bummer, because I felt the heaviness of everyday life fall back on me.