Here Not There, There Not Here

As you know I am well into my second gig of half-time ministry. This time the minister is on sabbatical and I am filling in for three months. This faith community, like the last one, is located very near where I grew up. In fact, the High School I attended is just a three minute walk down the road.

This congregation is lively and thriving and I am having a great time working with the folks here. They are flexible and accommodating and, most important of all, fun to be with.

Like last time, I am staying with my brother for the half a week that I am here. We get along well and usually end the day watching a little Netflix or catching up on the news. His house is very comfortable and his hospitality is beyond welcoming. It is my home away from home. But here’s the thing … it feels like I am NEVER at HOME. And I miss it! When I do get to my Bracebridge house I have to tend to the house and the garden, do my laundry, catch up on the mail and before I know it, it is time to leave again. I can manage the odd visit with a friend. This week I have to try to squeeze in a haircut and an oil change for my car.

The other challenge is remembering where stuff is. The book I go to grab is at the church … or at the house … wherever I am not. The food I thought was in the fridge is actually in the other fridge at the other place. The notes I made for my sermon got left on the other desk, that one that is there, not here. Arghh!

I am not complaining, not really, because I do love these short term opportunities with different congregations. What I have realized is how important to me it is to be rooted. To have a place that is home. To feel an at-home routine. But here’s the rub – when I am home without commitments I am bored. Yep, I am a restless cat these days – wanting to be busy and wanting to be still, wanting to have something going on and wanting to relax. I am always wanting the other.

Here is my goal for this week… to know that what I have is enough. To accept that what I do is enough. To see that where I am is where I am meant to be. To believe that the Spirit has called me to this time, this place, this moment and to rest in it. To trust that there is something that transcends impermanence.

My self-absorption with my picayune problems pale in significance to those who have seen their houses swept away by Hurricane Fiona. My longing for home is ridiculous in the face of the loss and devastation the people on the east coast have experienced. But I long ago learned that by comparing my problems to someone who has bigger problems does not erase mine. It just puts them into a different perspective.

Julian of Norwich, that slightly odd Christian mystic from the Middle Ages, famously said, “All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.” I think we can hear that statement of faith in the broadest cosmic sense. Sometimes it calls us to lean into our discomfort and sorrow as deeply as we do our joy and delight. Sometimes it requires we lean heavily on those around us who offer support and kindness as surely as it sometimes means providing that care for others. Sometimes it means living with our restlessness and accepting it as graciously as we accept those days of peace. So I am learning that it doesn’t matter if I am here or there, there or here. What matters is resting in the presence of the Spirit.