This morning, during the Palm Sunday service at church, I felt overcome by homesickness.
When I mentioned it during our traditional Sunday Morning Car Ride Debrief on the way home, I realized that I have a rather strange reality that comes from these many years of moving around and having had so many homes... that is, different occasions induce in me feelings of homesickness for different places.
As I think about the strangeness of that, I wonder if maybe it's an appropriate feeling for this day, when perhaps Jesus himself was experiencing a bit of the same thing. On this entrance into Jerusalem, on a visit that he knew would be his last, and during the tradition-enriched Passover festival, I wonder if he was thinking about all his many homes: his birthplace in Bethlehem, his safe haven in Egypt, his childhood in Galilee, the hospitable homes where he was made welcome in his traveling life. Even the temple, his Father's house. All these homes, where he'd celebrated the Passover, where he'd blessed dinners and held babies and healed and taught and laughed and cried; all these, he knew he'd never see again on earth.
Maybe he was even a bit homesick for his Heavenly home... the one he surely knew was awaiting his return.
Blessed is the One who comes--who rides on a humble colt into the turmoil of humanity.
Blessed is the One who comes--who enters our cities, our neighborhoods, our homes.
Blessed is the One who comes--who steps over the threshold and into the living spaces of our lives.
Hosannah! Come, and save us!
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