Over the last 25 years or so I have picked a lot of passages for various liturgists to read during a service. So many times on a Sunday morning I have had a reader come to me and say, “Why did you give me this passage with all these hard words?” For some reason they always think that I am gunning for them. I once wanted a passage out of Isaiah chapter 8 read. In the passage was the name Mahershalalhashbaz. Not once, but twice. He was the son of Isaiah. The Lord told Isaiah to name Mahershalalhashbaz this name because of the prophetic meaning of the name. The liturgist didn’t wait until Sunday. She called me Wednesday morning at 7AM. I told her that the prophetic part was important to the sermon. “WELL THEN YOU READ IT!” I have always liked that I have such good relationships with the liturgists. The point is, all of us at some time or another have been reading the Bible and wondered why they couldn’t name their kids Fred or George or Alice.

          We have talked about Biblical names before. The truth is, all languages have difficult names to pronounce to those of us who do not speak those languages. Because we give up on the names, we often give up on the things those people who had those names accomplished. One such person is Gaius Plinius Secundus, or, as he is more commonly remembered, Pliny the Elder.

          Pliny’s accomplishments were many. He was a Roman statesman, a philosopher, an author and an army and naval commander. In case you wonder how he could command both in the army and the navy, remember that in Roman times a naval attack consisted on ramming your opponent and then boarding the other ship. Basically, the army on water. By all accounts, he was brilliant. He was born about the time Jesus was turning twenty and only lived for some fifty six years. Much has been written about old Pliny and many sayings have been attributed to him. One such saying occurred one night while on a military campaign. The attack was to be at dawn and Pliny was with his generals having one last toast to victory. The generals were concerned because Pliny seemed preoccupied and distant. When asked about it, Pliny is supposed to have said, “I have traveled many places. I have served my emperor in many lands. I have been wondering where, after all these years, is my true home. I have decided.” Waving his goblet toward where his massive army slept, he said, “Home is where the heart is, and my heart is here.”

          Or so the story goes. ‘Home is where the heart is’ appears in many English speaking writings, but it goes back to Pliny and was first uttered in Latin. Interesting, isn’t it? I suppose that this is something that most people have contemplated when they have been far away. But Pliny had never really had a home in his adult years and so his feeling resonates.

          Of late, I have had a deep yearning for home. My problem, like Pliny, is that I really don’t know where home is. One writer said that home is where you long to be more than anywhere. I grew up in Perry, Ohio. A great little place to grow up. We hunted and fished. My friends and I would gather in a cow pasture during the summer and use dried cow patties for bases and play baseball when we were too young to play Little League. The fair was our big deal. The northern part of our township was the southern shore of Lake Erie and that had its own adventure. It was just a great place to grow up. But I don’t ever remember a time thinking I wanted to live in Perry forever. There was something else out there, even before I became a Christian. My future would not be in Perry.

          And it wasn’t. I have pursued a career that has taken us to many places. We lived in Tennessee, Florida, Alabama, Ohio and Indiana. There is a place in Tennessee where two great rivers, flowing out of the mountains and flowing very fast, come together and make a greater river. It is awesome to see. One afternoon we drove across Florida from the east coast to the west coast to see the ocean surge ahead of an approaching hurricane. Actually, quite frightening. Late one afternoon we were having a wedding rehearsal on the shores of Lake Erie when one of the little kids in the wedding pointed out to the lake. We turned and saw three waterspouts swirling out on the water, almost looking like they were playing. We cleared out because they are deadly, but it was a real sight. Marsha and I once had a tornado pass over our car, actually lifting us a few inches off the ground and turning the car around and once I drove in a hurricane, which was stupid. Everywhere we have lived has left incredible memories in my mind, but where is home?

          Janene asked me Sunday if the apartment was feeling like home yet. There is nothing wrong with the apartment and it makes more sense to live there than the house did, but no, it isn’t home. Actually, I feel more at ‘home’ when I sit down in my office or when I walk into a hospital room. Having someplace to live and having a home are two different things.

          On my computer, both at the apartment and at the office, I have Google Earth. For those who are not familiar, Google Earth takes satellite imagery from all around the world and gives you access to it. You can type in the street address of your house and in seconds you are looking down on it. You can view it from a mile or so up to a hundred feet. You can see the neighbor’s dog doing its business in your back yard. It isn’t a video, more like an aerial photo. Google Earth also has a huge fleet of cars with special cameras that shoot in 360 degrees mounted on their roofs that drive all over the country and in selected cities around the globe. Where those cars go, you can go and you can have a street level view. One evening this week I went back to Perry, my hometown. On some of the streets I could go to street level, so I took the tour. The Google car had last gone through in 2017, so the images were a couple of years old, but it was pretty neat. There was where Keith lived and there was Tony and Marvin’s old house. That’s where I used to live, but the house is gone now. Yes, pretty cool. But, I do not miss it. It isn’t home. Home is where the heart is, and my heart hasn’t been there in a long, long time.

          The older I get the more it seems I get farther away from home. And, yet, the older I get the more it seems I am getting closer to home. If home is really where the heart is, then somewhere not far off is where that place lies. A place where loved ones are and a place where one can take one’s shoes off and run in the grass. I can treasure everyone here, and I do, but where home is, that is where all believers will be one day, so one day all the ones I treasure here will be there. Life is hard here. How many times have you wished you could have said just one more thing to someone before they passed away?

          How important are words? Isaiah 62:4 says this, No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah, and your land Beulah; for the LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married. Hephzibah means to take delight in and Beulah means married. It was a phrase in the Hebrew that referred to a man taking delight in his wife and making a life with her and it meant ‘you will be home.’ The old song “Beulah Land” refers to that home as the best of places.

I'm kind of homesick for a country
To which I've never been before.
No sad goodbyes will there be spoken
for time won't matter anymore.

(Chorus)
Beulah Land, I'm longing for you
and some day on thee I'll stand.
There my home shall be eternal.
Beulah Land -- Sweet Beulah Land

I'm looking now across the river
where my faith will end in sight.
There's just a few more days to labor.
Then I will take my heavenly flight.

(Chorus)
Beulah Land, I'm longing for you
and some day on thee I'll stand.
There my home shall be eternal.
Beulah Land -- Sweet Beulah Land