Second Sunday of Christmas Jeremiah 31:7-14 January 3, 2010
On December 25th Julia, Katie and Teddy and I packed up the van and drove down to Lakeville to gather with my sisters and their families.
While it is true that there are many places that I can claim as "home" Lakeville is the community that I lived longest during my growing up years, it is where I graduated from high school.
Lakeville is where my parents are buried.
So, despite all the talk of snow and bad roads we packed up and went home.
On the 26th we packed up the van again and this time we were heading South and then West to Lincoln, Nebraska, Julia's childhood home.
The drive through Minnesota and Iowa was thankfully uneventful, even though 35W through Iowa was littered with vehicles in the ditch, some upright, others upside down from previous days attempts to travel.
When we hit the Nebraska border we were informed that I80 was closed in Nebraska.
Then the signs said that I80 was closed west of Omaha. Flirting once again between bravery and stupidity, we ventured forth—all the way to Julia's parents home—where after 500 miles of travel, I got stuck in her parent's drive way.
And then on the 30th we loaded up the van once again and we made the trip back to Milaca, to our home here. Thankfully an uneventful drive.
During the course of the past week I couldn't help but realize that our family, like many other families I suspect, were caught up with the act of going home, in one sense or another.
Some of us made it safe and sound; others may have found themselves slowed down due to poor weather and miserable traveling conditions.
Some like the Israelites in our reading from Jeremiah may have felt like hostages or prisoners in foreign lands, wishing they were home with family and friends—but rather were stuck stranded in airports, or hotels waiting for their cars to be rescued and repaired.
In our reading from Jeremiah we hear about the people of Israel who have been hostages in a foreign land for many generations.
And they longed for home.
All of us I suspect have at some point and time have found ourselves in similar situations.
It has been suggested that with every living creature there is an instinct for the place of our origin.
I read an article years ago about a fellow who lived in Pittsburgh, PA who trained 30 some homing pigeons.
Due to an accident he had to sell the pigeons.
Two of the birds were transported to Texas.
Not long after they arrived they also escaped—flew the coop—if you will--and then made the 1,500-mile flight back to Pittsburgh to their original owner and to their home.
King Salmon I am told hatches roughly thirty thousand eggs in the freshwaters of the Pacific Northwest.
After doing so the female salmon swims away and dies. From the eggs come young salmon who, when mature, will swim out to sea to spend four years swimming in the saltwater Pacific Ocean.
Then something strange happens.
After their time at sea, they somehow return to the mouth of the river in which they were born.
Against overwhelming odds they seek their birthplace. Swimming upstream against the current, often leaping up and over strong waterfalls, they travel approximately 25 miles per day.
Then they, in turn, lay eggs, beginning the cycle once again.
What is it about our long for home instinct?
Is there within every living being the longing to return to familiar grounds?
Certainly the longing for home is instinctual in some species of animal.
But what about humans?
Is there within us an attraction for home?
In our reading from Jeremiah the people of Israel longed to return home.
They had been in captivity for many generations in the land of Babylon and here Jeremiah speaks to them on behalf of God and promises them that in weeping and repentance they will return to their homeland and to their God, and God will overwhelm them with abundant provisions and care.
As I consider these words I am reminded of the adage that you can't go home again—and yet—God's promise is that we can go home.
If there is any time of the year when coming and going and being away from home is particularly poignant, now is that time.
Leading up and following Christmas airports are busy, highways are in heavy use as people are coming and going. There is a sense in which you and I are in some way—away from home.
For some of you that is literally true.
Perhaps you moved to this community from somewhere else. (Show of hands)
You married someone in this community, but the rest of your family is somewhere else.
Others of you are here because this is where you work. (How many of you have always lived in Milaca, born here, grew up here and never really left?)
(How many grew up here, moved away for one reason or another and then returned to Milaca?)
In this day and age very few Americans stay put.
I ran across a statistic the other day that claims that every day in America 108,000 of us move to a different home, and 18,000 move to another state.
[Having lived in 9 different states, and 2 countries I can attest to this statistic.]
Some of us are away from home in a literal sense.
Others may very well be away from home in a spiritual sense.
Something is missing in our lives.
Some have not felt welcome in their homes of origin or in their newfound homes.
And as a result there is a spiritual hunger within us—a sense that we have not found that which is most important in our lives.
This past week while in Lincoln our family went to see the movie, The Blind Side, the story of Michael Oher, a homeless black 17 year old who was separated from his mother as a child and went through one foster care home after another.
Due to unusual and fortunate circumstances, Michael finds himself living and being adopted into the home and family of Leigh Anne and Sean Touhy, an affluent white couple in a Southern Suburb.
Having grown up with nothing, not even a bed to sleep in, Michael is suddenly provided the kind of care and nurture so many of us take for granted.
While the movie is based on the real life of Michael Oher an outstanding left tackle for the University of Old Miss, and NFL player for the Atlanta Falcons, The Blind Side is also a touching story that lifts up the value of having a home and a family who will stand beside you and support you in all that you do as well as the reminder that we all have the power to make the world a better place to live.
In an older movie, City Slickers, Billy Crystal, who plays the character Mitch heads off to a Dude Ranch with some of his buddies.
In the spirit of movies that depicts one of those midlife crisis road trips—this movie has Mitch asking Curly, the rugged, leather faced cowboy played by Jack Palace, "What is the secret of life?"
Curly held up one gloved finger and replies, "Just one thing.
Figure out that one thing and nothing else matters."
For Mitch, the young city slicker, the one thing that was most important was his family, but he had to learn that.
For followers of Jesus, there is something even more important than family.
There is "one thing" that is more important than any other thing in life.
It is to have God reign in our hearts and lives.
It is to have God at the center of everything we do.
It is to have an inner assurance that we are never alone or forsaken, and abandoned.
It is to have a motivating force in our lives that causes us to be more than we could ever be on our own.
Being that this is the time of the year when many are making New Year's resolutions, it might be helpful to note that according to a great many psychologists it is estimated that not one person in a million is living up to his or her full potential.
How about you?
Are you living up to all that you were created to do and be?
Are you making the most of your inner resources?
Like I said, it's a provocative question for this first Sunday of the New Year.
Can you imagine what your life would be like if you could realize your full potential?
Edward Bok, one-time editor of The Ladies' Home Journal, tells the story of his grandfather.
His grandfather was commissioned by the King of Denmark to lead a band of soldiers against pirates who were playing havoc with shipping along a certain coastal area.
The elder Bok set up his headquarters on a rocky, desolate island just off the coast, and after a few years was able to clear the pirates out.
Upon returning to the mainland Bok reported to the King. The King was very pleased and offered Bok anything he wanted.
All he wanted, he told the King, was a plot of land on the island where he had just lived and fought for so many months.
The island was barren, and the King noted, why would he want to live there?
"I want to plant trees", was Bok's reply.
"I want to make the island beautiful."
The King's aides thought he was crazy.
The island was constantly swept by storms and high winds.
He would never be able to get a tree to grow there.
Bok, however, insisted, and the King granted his wish. Edward Bok went to live on the island,.
For years, he and his wife worked hard, persistently planning trees, shrubs, and grass.
Gradually the vegetation took hold, and the island began to flourish.
One morning they arose to hear birds singing.
There had never been any birds on the island before.
Eventually the island became a showplace and is now visited by thousands of tourists each year.
When he died, the grandfather requested that the following words be inscribed on his tombstone: "Make you the world a bit more beautiful and better because you have been on it."
But the story doesn't end there.
Edward Bok, the grandson, who had become an American citizen, believed that anyone who was able to do so should retire at 50 and spend the rest of his or her life making the world a more beautiful and better place to live.
And he was good as his word.
At 50 he retired from his job and bought a mountain—Iron Mountain, elevation 324 ft above sea level, the highest point in Florida.
And he set out to repeat in America what his grandfather had done in the old country.
He was more than successful.
The place is called Mountain Lake Sanctuary, Lake Wales, Florida.
Upon his death, Edward Bok willed it to the State of Florida, and is now a major tourist attraction.
In similar fashion the inscription on the younger Bok's grave also states: "Make you the world a bit more beautiful and better place because you have been in it."
Maybe it is the sentimentality of entering a New Year, but can you imagine what this world would be like if every one of us lived out the best that is in us—if everyone of us was determined to leave the world a more beautiful place—if every one of us allowed God to rule in our lives?
The truth is—most of us fall short.
Something within us holds us back.
Like the Israelites of hold, we too are being held in captivity—
Captivity to the ways of this world—
Captivity to our own emotions—
Captivity to greed, lust, indolence—
Captivity to an indifference to others—
Captivity to a sense of entitlement and looking out only for ourselves.
So what is it going to take to free us from all that holds us back, freeing us to soar with the eagles?
Who will free us to be the very best we can be and to leave the world a better place?
Who will make it possible for us to find our true home—that place where we are at our best?
Well, I suspect you know the answer to that question—why else would you be here this morning?
The only one who can set us free is God.
The same God who invites us to come home, Even if you have been banished to the "most distant land under the heavens, from there the Lord your God will gather you and bring you back."
Dave Thomas, the founder of Wendy's restaurants, is a big advocate for adoption.
He was an adopted child himself, and he was very grateful for the love and values his adoptive family gave him.
Dave tells the story of a young woman named Kandy, a teen who was adopted.
Kandy had only been with her adoptive family for about a year when her birth father invited her to lunch, in hopes of getting to know her and answer some of her questions. This man had been out of Kandy's life for a long time, due to his incarceration in prison.
Kandy's parents were reluctant to let her go, because they were afraid that she might choose to go back with her birth father.
But they encouraged her to go so that she might learn more about her history.
They knew it was important for her identity and self-esteem.
Kandy and her birth father had a good lunch.
He answered to the best of his ability, the dozens of questions she had been storing up for so long.
When Kandy's adoptive parents arrived at the end of lunch, Kandy did something unexpected.
In the year that she had lived with her adoptive parents, Kandy never touched or hugged her father.
But now she reached out and linked arms with her adoptive dad.
Grabbing the container with her lunch leftovers, she said, "Papa, take me out to the parking lot. I want to put my lunch in the car."
It was just a small gesture, but it announced to the world that Kandy was committed to her new family, that she decided who father would be.
As we enter in 2010 perhaps that's the question we all need to consider in both word and deed—who will be our Father?
Will God reign in our hearts?
Will we come home to God's love, God's peace, God's purpose for our lives and our congregation?
It might be schmaltzy, but I wish I had a lunch pail for each of you this morning so we could each place them on the altar as our declaration that this is our home.
God is our Father, and with God's help during the coming year, we will be the very best and as faithful as we can be.
You can go home again.
"Even if you have been banished to the most distant lands under the heavens, from there the Lord your God will gather you and bring you back." Amen.
Pastor Stephen Blenkush
Zion Lutheran
Milaca, MN
www.ZionMilaca.org(Sermon Archive)
