Rev. E. Scott Winnette
Honest Homecomings
Psalm 84, Luke 15:11-32
A Sermon preached by: Scott Winnette
September 10, 2006
“How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts!” - how lovely. Lovely wooden pulpit, lecturn, choir loft, and Communion Table. Lovely hard wooden pews with lovely blue cushions for our – sitting. Lovely wooden and metal piped organ poised to burst with sounds of praise. Lovely blue hymnbooks ripe with prayers for our singing. Lovely potent Bibles for our learning and living. Lovely, strong, tall, enfolding bricks. Absolutely lovely glass of every color and Bible story – Noah and Jesus above us, Pentecost and Resurrection, rainbow strips of promise, and the welcoming and sending arms of Jesus. Lovely banners – red, green, white, blue – reminding us of our patterns and rituals together. The sorrow and promise of death and resurrection: stone, wood, ashes, names, dates and the eternal spirits of our columbarium are lovely. Isn’t it all lovely? “LOVELY.” Praise God for this dwelling place, for this home. Welcome home! Welcome home! We have pilgrim-aged here this morning seeking Holy Beauty, seeking to come closer to the beauty of each other, seeking home.
We went to my Grandmother Winnette’s once or twice a month. Us three boys had mixed emotions as we left our weekend freedom – our toys, friends, our library books, our cartoons, to get in a car and drive forever through the hills of Middle Tennessee. Cooped up in the car we fought and pushed for more space in the back seat. “Don’t touch me.” “He hit me.” “Move over.” Instead, we could be home free riding our bikes over ramps and through ditches. We didn’t look forward to Grandmother’s hot, dark, run-down house, peeling paint, sloping floors, rusty window fans, dusty rugs and doilies, hardly working TV, and old Reader’s Digest Anthologies. But as we drove over the puddle-marked, gravel driveway, getting closer to the old house, we could peer through the enormous elephant ear leaves to see Grandmother rocking on the porch watching for us, ready to welcome us home. She was lovely, with a plump smile, a polyester dress, and her wiry, grey, Einstein hair somewhat coiffed or just bound up in an old handkerchief. We each got a hug and icky kiss then she drew us into the greasy kitchen for some fudge, divinity or coconut cake.
Her home wasn’t as lovely as my parent’s or as this one. But, she was lovely – while cranky sometimes. And, she thought we were lovely with all our quirks and problems. She considered all of her nine children and 40+ grandchildren lovely. She welcomed us all: the oldest, a WWII tank commander and railroad man; the successful son, who owned a ranch next to the Ewing’s Southfork; the career marine; my dad, the printer; her daughters, Hazel and Maude; the wealthy business man; the youngest bricklayer son; college educated grandchildren; some deadbeat ones; adopted granddaughters; two (no three) gay grandchildren; a once in prison grandson; a college teacher; a minister; and a few drug-addicted grandchildren. She rocked on her porch welcoming us all in from the pilgrim roads with a hug and a sweet.
We are welcomed home regardless of the roads we have traveled. The singing Psalmist, sings a longing for home. She sings a desire to be with God. She sings a desire to reunite with family. Her passionate longing is like the wayward, wasteful son’s. He longed to return to his father’s home even if to be a servant. We have two sons coming home in our Gospel story, one son comes from far away sinful, suffering places, the other from hard-working fields. One is disgraceful, the other respectfully righteous. The father welcomes them both home.
The Psalmist sings while on pilgrimage to the Temple delighted that he will be welcomed, for his God welcomes even the birds. Some pilgrims travel through the Valleys of Baca, the valleys of dry bones and desolate living. Others come from valleys of flowing water, and lush greens. I know from where some of you come. Some of you did not leave this Summer. Others have spent time away on vacations. Some of you have left grieving gravesides to gather here. Many of you come from deep places of restful plenty. Others of you are here leaving sickbeds, fearful homes, and frantic offices. Welcome home. How lovely is the dwelling place of our God. How lovely are you all. For more than the wood, metal, bricks, fabric and glass around us – we are the dwelling place of our Welcoming God. Our community, our warmth, our welcome, our watching out for each other is God’s preferred home. Humans do long for place, for a location to gather, but it is in gathering that we are nourished. It is in gathering that we find our true home. I long for my grandmother’s porch, but I long more for her voice, her kiss, her embrace, and her fudge.
In El Salvador we worshiped God under a large, gnarled tree beside a shack, outhouse and flower-filled garden. God dwelt with us sixteen from Bradley Hills and our Salvadoran host families. For home really is where the heart is. Home really is where the hearts are gathered. If you long for God, know that God really is where two or more are gathered who care for each other, who serve each other with parties of roasted calf, omelet’s, fudge, and cups of warm coffee. Home is when we gather to share our lives, our gifts, our talents with each other giving praise to our God who gave it and us to us.
Great Baptist preacher, Fred Craddock tells a story about the dwelling place of God. He shared that one summer he filled the pulpit of a little Tennessee country church. They had a custom of saving up their baptisms. Once every two or three or four months they would have a baptismal service. And they would go down to the river, and they made quite a “do” of it.
They would drive down their flat bed trucks piling loads of food, fried chicken and everything else, on the flat beds like tables. They’d light a big bonfire; and, as it was starting to get dark, they’d gather down by the river on the sandbar with the people who were to be baptized, and they’d sing while they’d baptize one or two or three or four people, however many.
And then they would gather around the fire, and the singing would get quiet after a while, and then someone would step up and say, “You know I ain’t much for words, but you’re new in our family; I’m a fair hand at blacksmithing. If you got any iron needs bent or straightened, that is what I got to offer you now that you’re in the family.” And another little lady would stand up and she would say, “Well I can’t say much in public, but I do a fair job of sewing. And if you need any stitching done, that’s what I got to offer you.” And they’d go around the circle, and people would offer to those new Christians something out of their lives.
And then somewhere along in there, Bill, it was always Bill, he said, because he had number twelve boots. And Bill would stand up and clear his throat and say, “Well, reckon it’s time to go.” And people would start gathering up the food and scuttling toward the trucks, and he’d go over and start raking sand onto the fire.
Craddock said he kind of slipped up behind Bill and stood there a minute; cleared his throat. Bill turned around and said, “Well Craddock, folks don’t never get no closer ‘n this. And Fred Craddock said, “They’ve have a word for that over in that part of Tennessee, they got a word for that. They call it “church.” That’s what they call the dwelling place of God, church.[1]
The longing and singing Psalmist cried, “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts? My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God. Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts, my king and my God. Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise.” Welcome home friends to this place of praise, community, love, sharing, serving, eating, partying, and praising all to the glory of God.
Welcome home! Like the waiting Father, my departed Grandmother, like loving brothers, and cherished sisters, we -- the very voices and bodies of God -- watch out for each other. Then we run to welcome each lovely one of us home to dwell with our God. Amen.
