"My Father Was a Wandering Aramean..."

“My father was a wandering Aramean…”

“Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” Matthew 8:20

“In my Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so I would have told you.” John 14:2

“We have a house from God,…not made by human hands.” II Corinthians 5:1

“Live your lives as strangers here in reverent fear.” I Peter 1:17

“They knew they were looking for a homeland of their own…” Hebrews 11:14

Friday, March 13, 2009

I woke up at 5:30 this morning on Friday which is my day off. Wouldn’t you know it -- on my personal Sabbath when I can sleep late without guilt it happens that I wake up at 5:30 in the morning! The reason I woke up this particular Sabbath is because I had my “home” dream. This is a dream which has appeared in my sleep from time to time and I have come to recognize it.

In this dream there is a house, a house which is my house and has been from the beginning. Its features are reminiscent of the Buchanan family place, an ante bellum mini-mansion which still stands on a few acres of ground just two long blocks from the town square in Brandon, Mississippi. The house was built by my great-grandfather, one in a long line of Buchanan men named William. It was started in 1860 and was finished after the War. It has tall ceilings with wood floors and a fireplace in every room. There is a massive wooden staircase in the center of the entry which leads to the four symmetrical bedrooms upstairs. Out back there is the old smokehouse and the detached kitchen, along with an old well and a gazebo. There is a running spring down in the woods about two hundred yards behind the house, and there are huge old magnolia trees surrounded by luxurious flower gardens in front.

In my dream I came over for a visit, and I met the present owner of the house whom I later realized was me. He gave me the grand tour and I was delighted at how he had restored the house and was caring for it. Then we sat and reminisced; he showed me a little book of history that had been written by one of those unknown Southern country writers who really knew how to tell a story. There were a number of preachers in the little book, some of whom I vaguely recognized. After our brief visit I took my leave and thanked my host for his hospitality. That is when I woke up and realized the reason for my dream on this day.

John Wesley once told his preachers, “Do not stay too long in one place,” or something like that. We still hear Wesley’s words in our ordination service. It was one of his maxims. I have been here in this place for seven years, a fairly long sojourn for an itinerant United Methodist pastor. Prior to coming here I was at the last place for eight years and probably could have stayed for another eight but God moved me on.

The house I live in now I bought seven years ago at the age of forty-eight, and other than a small lake house it is the only house I have ever bought. It is the only house of my own that I have lived in since becoming an adult. Being in my fifties and living in my own house for the first time has had a profound affect on me. I like it. The last two places where I have lived I have been there long enough to almost forget that I signed on to be an itinerant minister.

When I preached my mother’s funeral service last September I noted how important her home was to her. She had never lived outside of Jackson, Mississippi until moving here just three years before she died. The words of Jesus were particularly comforting for the time: “In my Father’s house are many dwelling places.” Jesus of course was speaking to a homeless Church, before there were church buildings, committees, or budgets. He was speaking to the first generation of Christians, and to me. The itinerant ministry is an adventure in homelessness, but in the heart of God I am always at home.