Exile

I spent this past week at my denomination's General Assembly, our biennial gathering of as much of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) as would like to attend. I attended the one in 2009, where I knew only the persons with whom I was traveling. I missed the one in 2011. I gladly packed my bags for the one in Orlando this year.

I knew the programmatic schedule and what was duties I had. I had prepped diligently and was ready for all those things. I wasn't ready for other things, the things that had nothing to do with programs.

My body works best when on the Eastern Time Zone, for example. I've lived in other time zones for over three years now, but there, my body settles in and knows what to do when it comes to waking and sleeping. I've never had the same experience living with any other timing.

I knew I would see the pastor who I worked with while in seminary. I knew that reunion was long overdue, at least for me, and would be sweet. It was. I didn't anticipate there would be more reunions, more people I was happy to see, again. I didn't realize there would be wonderful introductions, great debates, and conversations that resound with the innermost parts of me.

And in the midst of all those things--those wonderful, God-filled things--I began to feel a sadness that this would be over. I began to feel a sadness at leaving the pastor whom I hadn't seen in far too long, and the conversations that only happen when a large number of theological nerds gather and yes, even sadness at leaving the time zone where my body works best.

A word crept into my mind along with these feelings: exile. I live in exile. 

I was a bit shocked at how well that word fit the space where I normally live my life. My life, which I love, which I live in partnership with a congregation I love, which is comprised of people whom I love.

Then, I remembered: exile isn't a bad thing, at least where God is concerned. Sometimes, yes, but not most of the time. Abraham was called into exile from his home, as was Jesus. The earliest disciples, especially the twelve closest to Jesus, spent most of their lives far away from the places they called home. At least they did after they met Jesus.

As much as I love those people and places who make me feel at home, home is not where I am called to live my life. It's not where any of us are, actually. For home is wonderful and longed for, but it wreaks of nostalgia. It wreaks of inactivity. It wreaks of longing for what was rather than moving into what will be.

God is present, moving, transforming in the exile. God is doing new things in the exile. And I'm happy to live my life here even as I treasure the moments of home.

Exile is a holy place, too.