The paradox resting itself as both a crown of diamonds and of thorns upon my mind is a question of place. It could be called topical maybe? Geographical, certainly.
I’m coming home. At least to a form of home. I’m leaving home. At least a form of home.
What bags that I packed will be waiting for me when I return? What bags will have mysteriously been packed by others and left behind?
They will say welcome back when I still am saying goodbye. I will say its good to be back when they say goodbye.
And this is not a one-time proposition. Movement is part of who we are. Stasis is not possible. Abraham was told to get up and go; Moses wandered for 40 years; Ruth went and joined Naomi; Jesus left, face toward Jerusalem; Luther hid from the Pope’s thugs; Kierkegaard made a leap of faith.
That’s just it. We go from one place to another. We change and are changers. We move again. That changes things too.
We return sometimes. God’s people end up back in Egypt more often than anyone expected; they also returned from Babylon; Luther returned to the deep well of scripture; Jesus is promised to return.
Returning everything is the same, but fuzzy and different. A friend has a paunch. A cinema has more screens. And some are gone. They too have moved.
And once you wrap your head about this, it is all very exciting. I’m both coming and going!
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