You’re lying on a beach. The warm rays of the sun kissing your skin, the sand exfoliating your toes, the salty sea breeze breathing serenity into your world. Or maybe you’re bundled up on a sofa in front of a stone fire-place, the smell of hot cocoa filling your senses, fresh snow outside is like the scene of a beautiful painting. Who doesn’t love a good vacation? An escape from reality. Whether it’s an open beach house on the coast or a cozy cabin hidden in the mountains, everyone has a dream vacation house.
In church today, we heard an amazing message about the hope of home. Emmanuel, God with us, came to this earth. He didn’t have to come, but He did & He still does. Through the Holy Spirit, He makes our hearts home. He did this to show us what it means to be home. The bleeding woman didn’t feel home in her body, but her faith in Christ healed her. She made Him her home.
How often have I made Christ my vacation house instead of my home? I come to Him to find rest and comfort, which is not a bad thing, but I hold back. I don’t give Jesus my whole life & I only take from Him what I want. Why do we use Jesus to escape from reality when He literally is reality? Our lives, our circumstances; past, present, & future, it is all because of Christ. In the midst of my issues with body image & the struggles of mental illness, I have run so far away from home. I’ve camped out long weekends in a vacation house Christ, but I have failed to make Him a home.He has invited me in, to sit at His table and communion with Him, yet so many times I’ve accepted a cheaper idealistic version.
Ya see, the thing about vacation houses is, they’re not home. No matter how much fun you’re having, how peaceful you feel, how much you say “I could stay here forever!” you’re still longing for something. You’re longing for the place that carries your deepest joys and pains, the place your life is woven together, you’re missing home.
Jesus should not be the vacation house I use to catch a breath from my busy life: He should be my home. The place I take all my guilty, all my busy, all my worry, all my joy, all my life, all the time: He Is Home!
Jesus doesn’t need me to clean up my life. He takes me dirty laundry and all. Our lives are messy. Homes are messy. The cross was messy, but it always invites us home.
“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of – throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” – C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity