Church Homecoming Quotes

Esther had been the one to encourage his homecoming. She said it had something to do with forgiveness, but Yaw wasn’t certain that he believed in forgiveness. He heard the word most on the few days he went to the white man’s church with Edward and Mrs. Boahen and sometimes with Esther, and so it had begun to seem to him like a word the white men brought with them when they first came to Africa. A trick their Christians had learned and spoke loudly and freely about to the people of the Gold Coast. Forgiveness, they shouted, all the while committing their wrongs. When he was younger, Yaw wondered why they did not preach that the people should avoid wrongdoing altogether. But the older he got, the better he understood. Forgiveness was an act done after the fact, a piece of the bad deed’s future. And if you point the people’s eye to the future, they might not see what is being done to hurt them in the present.

But as soon as we grasp this—and I appreciate it takes quite a bit of latching onto for people who have spent their whole lives thinking the other way—we see that if salvation is that sort of thing, it can’t be confined to human beings. When human beings are saved, in the past as a single coming-to-faith event, in the present through acts of healing and rescue, including answers to the prayer “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” and in the future when they are finally raised from the dead, this is always so that they can be genuine human beings in a fuller sense than they otherwise would have been. And genuine human beings, from Genesis 1 onward, are given the mandate of looking after creation, of bringing order to God’s world, of establishing and maintaining communities. To suppose that we are saved, as it were, for our own private benefit, for the restoration of our own relationship with God (vital though that is!), and for our eventual homecoming and peace in heaven (misleading though that is!) is like a boy being given a baseball bat as a present and insisting that since it belongs to him, he must always and only play with it in private. But of course you can only do what you’re meant to do with a baseball bat when you’re playing with other people. And salvation only does what it’s meant to do when those who have been saved, are being saved, and will one day fully be saved realize that they are saved not as souls but as wholes and not for themselves alone but for what God now longs to do through them.

I was starting to remember the whole problem now: I hate these fucking people [people at Tea Party rallies, ed]. It's never been just political, it's personal. I'm not convinced anyone in this country except the kinds of weenies who thought student council was important really cares about large versus small government or strict constructionalism versus judicial activism. The ostensible issues are just code words in an ugly snarl of class resentment, anti-intellectualism, old-school snobbery, racism, and who knows what else - grudges left over from the Civil War, the sixties, gym class. The Tea Party likes to cite a poll showing that their members are wealthier and better educated than te general populace, but to me they mostly looked like the same people I'd had to listen to in countless dive bars railing against "edjumicated idiots" and explaining exactly how Nostradamus predicted 9/11, the very people I and everyone I know fled our hometowns to get away from. So far all my interactions at the rally were only reinforcing my private theory - I suppose you might call it a prejudice - that liberals are the ones who went to college, moved to the nearest city where no one would call them a fag, and now only go back for holidays; conservatives are the ones who married their high school girlfriends, bought houses in their hometowns, and kept going to church and giving a shit who won the homecoming game. It's the divide between the Got Out and the Stayed Put. This theory also account for the different reactions of these two camps when the opposition party takes power, raising the specter of either fascist or socialist tyranny: the Got Outs always fantasize about fleeing the country for someplace more civilized - Canada, France, New Zealand; the Stayed Put just di further in, hunkering down in compounds, buying up canned goods and ammo.

Since they'd met five years before, Esther had been the one to encourage his homecoming. She said it had something to do with forgiveness, but Yaw wasn't certain that he believed in forgiveness. He heard the word most on the few days he went to the white man's church with Edward and Mrs. Boahen and sometimes with Esther, so it had begun to seem to him like a word the white men brought with them when they first came to Africa. A trick their Christians had learned and spoke loudly and freely about to the people of the Gold Coast. Forgiveness, they shouted, all the while committing their wrongs. When he was younger, Yaw wondered why they did not preach that the people should avoid wrongdoing altogether. But the older he got the better he understood. Forgiveness was an act done after the fact, a piece of the bad deed's future. And if you point the people's eye to the future, they might not see what is being done to hurt them in the present.

He lifted his hands, indicating the garden canopy, the silver-grassed mountain on the other side of the valley, the white-trunked gums. "This is my church. My dad used to talk about places overseas, like St. Paul's Cathedral in London, the Notre-Dame in Paris---places he'd read about in books and wanted to see. But I always felt most connected when I was outside; not just surrounded by nature, but intrinsic to it, a tiny part of a system much larger than I was. Reverence. Grace. Meaning. Purpose. I feel those things when I'm working. Nature is my cathedral.

People used to say Evie was weird, but she didn't care. She said she liked weird things." This professed love of the weird might go some way to explaining Evie's particular interests in the world of fauna and flora. Not for her the "obvious" choices like koalas and kangaroos; her favorite animals were monotremes. And while she loved the smells and sights of gums and banksias and wattles, it was the primeval expanse of the forest floor that excited her. Evie was mystified when her classmates spoke of magic and make-believe, and by the stories Reverend Lawson told in church on Sundays of water turning to wine and angels appearing to men. Why, she puzzled, did people seek refuge in such fantasies, when the natural world offered endless wonder? She delighted in entering the cool, dark realm of the bush after rain, searching through sopping leaf muck to discover that a whole new variety of fungi had sprouted overnight, an array of unimaginable shapes and sizes and colors waiting to be explored and catalogued.

It's an ancient Anglo-Saxon tradition," Polly began, "the mixing of two ideas---one from earliest Christian times, the other from long before. The first Christians used to follow the custom of 'waking' a new church by singing, feasting, and praying in it." Jess, disappointed: "But that's not got nothing to do with a dead body." "I'm not finished yet." Jess mimed zipping her lips. "The other tradition I mentioned is much older. Long before the Christians came to Britain, an all-night vigil would be held over the body of the recently dead. Loved ones would mourn and chant and share stories of the person's life. It was called 'waking the dead'." Jess felt her eyes widen involuntarily as he thoughts went to Dr. Frankenstein and his monster, to Cathy's ghost haunting Withering Heights. "You mean they brought them back to life?" "Well, no." "But you said---" "Back then, the word 'wake' didn't mean to become alert; it meant 'to watch' or 'to guard'." "But what were they guarding against?" "There were those who believed the newly dead soul was at risk of theft by evil spirits." Soul theft at the hands of evil spirits had been almost as exciting as bringing the dead back to life.

Hasn’t the Church in the past stressed obedience in a fashion that made it hard to claim spiritual fatherhood, and hasn’t our consumer society encouraged us to indulge in childish self-gratification?

Going to church is supposed to be a homecoming, a breath of fresh air, and a chance to learn something.

I could see the solace she discovered. Here she could sing and dance and shout for glory among people who didn’t care which pew she sat in, whose people she belonged to, and whether she was baking a roast for the church homecoming. They were people who yearned for one thing, and one thing only: a pure relationship with that part of the Trinity so often neglected in organized worship. The Holy Spirit. Slouching

genuine human beings, from Genesis 1 onward, are given the mandate of looking after creation, of bringing order to God’s world, of establishing and maintaining communities. To suppose that we are saved, as it were, for our own private benefit, for the restoration of our own relationship with God (vital though that is!), and for our eventual homecoming and peace in heaven (misleading though that is!) is like a boy being given a baseball bat as a present and insisting that since it belongs to him, he must always and only play with it in private. But of course you can only do what you’re meant to do with a baseball bat when you’re playing with other people.

As I suggest in a previous work (O'Murchu 2000), we need a new metaphor to transcend the spiritual malaise of our time. I propose the metaphor or homecoming, and my central argument is that we need to come home, not to God, religion, or church, but to the creation to which we innately belong. Our exile, alienation, and estrangement are not from God, but from creation. With God everything is basically okay. Our spiritual not-at-home-ness has to do with our ambivalence and ambiguity toward God's creation. The long journey involved in this homecoming has several dimensions. It involves coming home to where God first encounters us, not with the threat of judgment or punishment, but with the embrace of unconditional love. From God's point of view. that is expressed first and foremost in the cosmic and planetary creation. Long before humans ever came to be, long before formal religion was ever conceived, God was birthing forth ancestral giftedness in the unfolding of stars and galaxies, of planets and quasars, including the paradoxical cacophony of building up and tearing down (Jer. 1:10) as the web of universal life unfolded.

It's an ancient Anglo-Saxon tradition," Polly began, "the mixing of two ideas---one from earliest Christian times, the other from long before. The first Christians used to follow the custom of 'waking' a new church by singing, feasting, and praying in it." Jess, disappointed: "But that's got nothing to do with a dead body." "I'm not finished yet." Jess mimed zipping her lips. "The other tradition I mentioned is much older. Long before the Christians came to Britain, an all-night vigil would be held over the body of the recently dead. Loved ones would mourn and chant and share stories of the person's life. It was called 'waking the dead'." Jess felt her eyes widen involuntarily as her thoughts went to Dr. Frankenstein and his monster, to Cathy's ghost haunting Wuthering Heights. "You mean they brought them back to life?" "Well, no." "But you said---" "Back then, the word 'wake' didn't mean to become alert; it meant 'to watch' or 'to guard'." "But what were they guarding against?" "There were those who believed the newly dead soul was at risk of theft by evil spirits." Soul theft at the hands of evil spirits had been almost as exciting as bringing the dead back to life.

A group of researchers some time ago did an experiment in which they read the parable of the prodigal son to groups in various places around the world: Asia, Africa, Eastern Europe, the Middle East, North America. The researchers would then ask people in each of these settings to recount back for them the story. There was one detail that people in the developing world always mentioned that those in the developed nations always left out: the famine. The son, you will remember, took his inheritance, went to the far country where he spent and squandered it. He only “came to himself” and came home after, Jesus said, “a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need” (Luke 15:14). Those in affluent contexts didn’t remember this part of the story because it seemed to them to be a minor detail. For those who lived regularly with the threat of famine, this seemed to be a major part of the story.56 It is indeed. When dealing with those who are wandering away from the faith, we must recognize that sometimes they will not start evaluating the deep questions of their lives until they find themselves in a situation in which they don’t know what to do. We must be the sort of parents and grandparents and churches that have kept open every possible connection: so that our prodigals will know how to get back home, and know that we will meet them at the road, already planning a homecoming party.

Matt was a pitcher, a basketball point guard, the homecoming king, and most likely to be valedictorian at our upcoming graduation. My parents adored him because he never kept me out past curfew and always made it to church on time. He had no intention of doing more than kissing me or holding my hand, and he rarely used inappropriate language, even when adults were nowhere in earshot.

When I was seventeen, I saw Prince Edward County for the first time as I accompanied my father to drop my grandmother off for the August church homecoming. Homecoming was traditionally a season where black migrants to the cities and the North returned to catch up with family and friends. It was also the time when children like my father, who were sent South for the summer, usually got to return home to the cities from whence they came. Held during the laying-by period when the crops needed little tending, the week of church and visiting relatives lasted from Saturday to Saturday and usually ended with the migrants returning home with extra bags of gifted produce

Exhuming a few symbolic tidbits from the late poet Bert Meyers’s works, lest we forget… ‘To My Enemies’ Maddened by you for whom the cash register, with its clerical bells, is a national church; you, whose instant smile cracks the earth at my feet... ___ ‘Homecoming’ My home was a watercolor I left in the rain ...  ____ ‘Signature’ And my obsession’s a line I can’t revise.

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