Just hours before His crucifixion, Jesus shared the following words of comfort with His disciples:
Don't be troubled. You trust God, now trust in me. There are many rooms in my Father's home, and I am going to prepare a place for you. If this were not so, I would tell you plainly. When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. (John 14:1-3 NLT)
Little did Jesus' disciples know what lay ahead for them — both ghastly and glorious. Neither do we know what lies ahead for us in this life. We only know that for some reason, deep in our soul, we have no lasting home here. We thank Elizabeth Price for such a touching reminder about our real home and hope.
It is a sad thing to stand at the gate of where home used to be and now it is not. You stand like a stranger, a guest without a welcome, at a gate that once swung open to your touch.
You have no right to open it now; no right to smile and step inside and say, "I'm home." You stand outside; the warmth and the welcome that was once yours by right is now locked. Everyone inside the gate is a stranger to you and you feel like an alien to everyone outside.
Like passing generations, you repeat sadly, "I am a passing guest, as all my forefathers were." It is a collective admission of insignificance by a disappearing people — a people who have no right to call this world "home."
So where do you go to go home?
Like a little dark swallow, you slip into a cave to hide from a world that has shut its gate on you.
But wait! A cave is not your home. Even the swallow and the sparrow are given more wonderful apartments than caves. Listen, "Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow has her nest where she rears her brood beside your altars, Lord of Hosts, my King and God." (Psalm 84)
You see, He has already prepared a place for you where the gate is always open. So tell the world and invite everyone you meet to come with you. Open the gate of your homelessness and let Him put His altar there to make His home your own.