Going Home

This past Wednesday, my father went home.

As hard as it is for my mom, my sisters, me, and our families, Dad was ready. When we met with the oncologist last Monday, he told Dr. Page “I’m ready to go home.” Then on Tuesday, their pastor (and my long-time friend) Peter Couser brought us communion at home. Before my dad received the Body and Blood of Christ for the final time, Pastor Pete asked him what we could pray for. My dad was a man of few words, and he said only this: “Hurry up.” He was ready to go home.

This morning I worshiped with my mom and sisters, as I have done hundreds of times throughout my life. Pastor Pete taught on 1 Peter 2:11–12. We are strangers and exiles in this world, we were told. This is not our home.

The picture at the top of this post is of my parents’ house, where they have lived for nearly 50 years. My sisters and I were all raised here. My dad built half of it with his own hands. The yard has been reshaped and replanted numerous times over the decades. It is difficult for me to think that this isn’t home. But the Gospel teaches us, and my father showed us, that it is just a building. I’ll write more about this house in the coming weeks and months, but it is just bricks and wood and carpet and love.

It isn’t home. Because my dad is home now. I don’t want to accept it. It hurts to even think it. But it is true. It is the Gospel truth.

Here is a video of the opening song from our worship this morning. I held my mom’s hand as we sang this song. We are living these lyrics right now, and I pray that we have the faith to believe them.

[tentblogger-youtube bbh43MGoigw]

I may be the one with the theological training, and I may be the one that got ordained, but my dad showed me this week that he knew and loved and followed Jesus better than I ever have. He still teaches me today. And, God willing, his legacy will continue to teach me until that day comes where I see my dad again, at home.