“There once was a bird who lived in a tree. The bird was named Faithful. From the time she was a tiny hatchling, her parents used to sing a song every morning. The song was called “Home,” but Faithful thought Home was the name of her tree.
Even after her siblings fledged and flew away, Faithful never ventured far from the nest. It was all she had ever known through the spring and summer of her life. To her, it was Home.
Fall came. The leaves changed from green to amber, rust, pumpkin, and scarlet. “Home has never been more beautiful!” Faithful thought. “I’m so glad I stayed.”
One day, gusty winds blew, and a hard, cold rain fell. One by one, the leaves flew off the tree. After the storm, Faithful became worried. “Home has never been so ugly,” she said.
She looked up and saw other birds flying. She wondered if she should join them. Would it be safe? Would her tree survive without her? Would she survive without the tree? What would her parents think, after providing such a beautiful nest in this tree called Home?
To stay or to leave ... it felt like the biggest choice she would ever make.
One morning, one of her brothers, Adventure, flew in and perched on a branch beside her. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said. “It’s time to migrate.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Faithful said. “I don’t know if I should stay Home or leave.”
Adventure cocked his head. “Faithful, I think you’re confused,” he tweeted. “Home isn’t the name of your tree. Home is the name of your song. Wherever you sing your song, that is your home” (McClaren, Do I Stay Christian, pp.221-222).
This parable, found in the Afterword of Brian McLaren’s book “Do I Stay Christian,” has a certain ‘ring’ to it; a melody that is familiar. It draws us into the heart of what faith really is.
In the book of James, we see that faith is not faith without a certain ‘way’ of living. Belief that leads to trust takes shape in the praxis of our lives. Thinking, believing, doing is all interwoven and interconnected in what we understand as ‘faith.’ It is an intricate song that binds hearts, minds, and lives together. It is a song of compassion, kindness, mercy, forgiveness, self-giving, and love. It is God’s song playing in and through us, and at the same time it is each of our life songs joining in God’s melodies and harmonies.
In a sense, I see this song play out when I read the gospels. I see Jesus moving from place to place, a transient with nowhere to call home. In fact, his hometown is not even an option to him. I used to feel a deep sadness for Jesus. For me, having a set place to call home has always been so life- giving. I lamented the fact that Jesus didn’t have this.
But you look at Jesus’ life and you see that home goes with him. Home is the song. You see his friends, the loving relationships he has, the song that he sings with his life and in which others join in, and you get a sense of faith on display...faith on the move, faith that reveals a commitment, not to stillness, comfort, and security, but to fluidity, flexibility, and transformation; faith that embodies love even at the expense of worldly comforts and familiar routines. As the cliche’ goes, home is, indeed, where the heart is.
But our hearts can so easily fall for those things that become familiar, comfortable, and safe; those things that give us a glimpse of the song, may even touch the song briefly, but does not become immersed within it. Sometimes we struggle to leave our places of familiarity, to spread our wings and fly because of what we might leave behind. But home is where the song is, God’s song.
I was once told by a mentor of mine, “Adam, you need to continue to ask God, What’s next? In other words, don’t ever stop discerning God’s call especially when life gets comfortable for you.”
And he confessed to me, I stayed at my last church for 25 years before I retired, and I’ll tell you now...I should have left after 10 years.
Of course, I tried to reassure him that this was not the case and that he did a phenomenal job, but he went on.
“You don’t understand, I was done. I had used all of my tricks, preached all my sermons, and positioned the congregation as far as I could take them. In the back of my mind, I knew I was done. And when I should have made way for a new leader, for someone that could continue the work and move the church in a direction I no longer could, I decided to stay. Why? Because it was comfortable: for me and for the church. And for 15 years almost nothing changed. It felt wonderful. I loved it. The church loved it...all the while we didn’t notice that fewer and fewer people from the community were visiting us, that we were stuck. Now that church is about to close its doors forever and it breaks my heart. The difficult, ongoing discernment work they should have been freed to do, never happened.”
I share this story because it has, for me, become a powerful example of how we can easily make our homes, the places, and ways we practice our faith, into something that peripherally touches God’s song but may, at times, resist going full in. This story helps me remember that faith always has a self-sacrificing component to it as it is steeped in sacrificial love for others. Home is where the song is and where our hearts are called to be.
In this season of new life and resurrection, what might it mean to consider home as the song we sing with our lives? How might this free us to consider the shape of our discipleship and our faithfulness to Jesus each and every day?
With Grace & Peace,
Adam
