This coming week, September 3rd, we leave the UK for China, Grasmere for Kunming. The two worlds couldn’t be more opposite. A sleepy village of a thousand or so folks to a big city of six million. A little of the known for a lot of the unknown. A familiar language and culture for the unfamiliar.
All of this makes for a swirl of bittersweet feelings. Leaving our time here in the UK feels a bit like a death. It involves the loss of new friends, safety feelings, a sense of being “at home”. Our friends here at St Mary’s prayed for us in the church meeting a few days ago, and again this morning in the service, commissioning us; I felt so warm to be a part of that body of folks. It did, however, leave me feelings a bit like Peter on the Mount of Transfiguration wanting to throw up a few shacks and stay awhile, wearing thin my welcome, hitchhiking on and hijacking the glory of His moment for my own personal security operations.
The better, more strenuous option is to embrace our status as exile on planet earth. This battles with my proneness to snuggle down, feather my nest, fuel illusions of permanence. Exiles are defined by one overwhelming characteristic—they’re not home. So there ya have it—we live in a present but not yet kingdom of heaven. I feel the snuggling down self and the exile self, the joy held in check with grief, the hope of Glory that waits for us and meanwhile weights us with significance. It's a bit like this ewe on the fence, trying to stay balanced as it goes for something higher and tastier than what she has known...
The comfort is that the Father goes with us, before us, behind us. We remember not to doubt in the dark what we’ve clearly grasped in the Light. We remember to give thanks in all things. Including you, now, our reader. Thank you for following our journey. In clear times and the misty ones. Amen.
