It’s too much like home

I’ve got a confession to make: I really love being at home. I love wearing my daggy clothes and not having to care. I love lying back on my favourite recliner and talking with my wife. I love playing board games with my kids. I love retiring to my little haven and pretending that all of the problems of the world don’t exist (well, at least until some fresh battle breaks out amongst my offspring). I love being at home because it is safe and comfortable and, well … because it’s home.

I have had the privilege of preaching through the book of Philippians this year and then listening to others preaching the same book. Like all of God’s words, Philippians has been a rebuke and an encouragement. But I would be lying if I didn’t say that it has raised one abidingly uncomfortable question: where is my home? The more I have read and preached Philippians, the more I have cause to wonder if this life feels a little too much like home.

In Paul’s opening prayer in chapter 1, he prays for people to be so transformed by the love of God that they will be ready to meet Jesus. I find my prayers increasingly filled with requests for God to fix up the now: God, please free my friend from depression; God, please help that argument at church stop; God, please help me to feel a bit better about life. In the second half of chapter 1, Paul longs to depart and be with Jesus: “to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (v. 21). I can’t help feeling that dying would be a downer. I like it here; I am enjoying my little life. “To live is fun and to die is horrible”.

In chapter 2, Paul reminds us that Jesus is the one true ruler of the world before whom every knee will bow and every tongue confess. He lives for the coming day, but I find myself living for the weekend. In chapter 3, Paul so wants to share in the resurrection of the dead that he forgets everything past and strains for the prize that God will give to his people when Jesus returns. I love the past. The past is fun: it’s the source of some of my fondest memories. As for straining, I reckon that I’d probably strain a muscle. Maybe shuffling towards the future would be a better description.

Finally in chapter 4, the one area of life that Paul is content about is the possession of worldly wealth. Little or much is immaterial because this isn’t home. I, on the other hand, find my heart contemplating rather too often the benefits of ‘financial security’. (I am sure that I would give more of it away if I had more!)

God’s word has left me with the uncomfortable feeling that this life feels a little too much like home. This world is becoming more like my comfy chair than the transit lounge it really is. As scary as it is for me to see in myself, the greater horror is that I am far from alone. May God’s word shape our hearts and minds to remember the hope that Jesus brings. This isn’t home; we aren’t there yet. May God grant us a vision of our true home that we might live now for him.

Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith—that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead. (Phil 3:8-11)

One thought on “It’s too much like home

  1. Thanks Paul for that reminder! It’s so true. I am becoming increasingly aware of how comfortable I am in this life, and just how much comfort can kill Biblical Christianity. Those reminders will never be shared too many times!
    I find Col 3:1-4 to be an encouragement for where to look for my true home, may God grant us heavenward vision!

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