The first time I met her, we talked about Scotland, and she told me she was from around Peebles. I observed that the sweater I was wearing at the time had been purchased at a tiny village named Walkerburn, just over the hill from Peebles, and her face lit up with joy as she proceeded to describe the beautiful rolling green countryside of the area. It had been 74 years since her eyes had looked upon the green hills of Scotland, but I could tell where her heart was at that moment. Most of us are like Elsie, we have different homes in our lives, we move from place to place, part of the nameless, faceless masses on an exodus to nowhere, moving here for school, there for work. We marry and follow our spouses, and we grow old and settle down where we can be looked after.
Some folk never stop moving, others drive their roots down solidly and never budge again.
But in the long run, we are never more than visitors. Jesus lived some 30 years in a tiny village in the middle east some 2000 years ago. He spoke a language none of us would understand, and ate foods most of us would turn our noses up at. And when he began his ministry, he wandered, from village to village, calling disciples to him and promising them that they would never have a home in this life time. But no matter, people heard his message, and the call of his gospel grasped them and pulled them away towards the promise of a new life, and away from the hardships they endured.