Home; Psalm 90:1-6

Rev. George Miller
Psalm 90:1-6
Nov 19, 2017

“Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.”

That’s the opening line of today’s psalm. When I hear it, I find great comfort; the notion of God being our dwelling place.

Roots. Grounded. Eternal.

But when put in context of the entire song, conflicting thoughts emerge.

Why would someone claim that God has been their home? Could it be that perhaps the person who wrote this is homeless?

Could it be they’ve been wandering around some kind of wilderness, waiting for a permanent place to rest their head?

Think about it: would a person who is already home in a secure place need to make the claim that God is home?

Or would it make more sense if that person is far away from momma’s cooking, far from fixing things with Dad, far from their pesky siblings, beloved pets, and childhood friends?

A person who is far from home, in a strange place, may just be the kind of person who calls God their dwelling place.

They may also be the kind of person who thinks about things like the mistakes we make, and how life seems too short and filled with too much toil.

And to what end? That we die, like a sigh, to become dust that gathers in the corner of a room?

These are the thoughts that fill Psalm 90. “How long?” the singer asks God. “How long?”

So, if we go back to the first line of the psalm and reread it, we can wonder if it’s designed to be words of comfort, words of distress, or words meant to remind God just what it means to be God.

Perhaps it’s all of these things; perhaps it is none.

Perhaps this is an appropriate scripture for acknowledging Thanksgiving.

Can’t you imagine these words being composed by one of the Pilgrims after they travelled overseas to an unknown land?

That someone in the wilderness of early America could write this?

Or, since last week we acknowledged Veteran’s Day, could you imagine a soldier currently across the ocean composing this?

Calling God their dwelling place, their refuge, when they know their life can be ended in a moment?

Could any of our veterans here today have composed such a song, knowing all too well the fragility of life, especially after watching one of their comrades die?

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. From dust we were made, to dust we shall return.

Humbling.

My father, who served in Vietnam, could have been one of those men.

I’d like to share something with you, the most emotionally valuable thing I own.

It’s a Bible that’s been in my family for three generations, passed down from 1st born male to 1st born male, used to mark an important transition in each life.

My father gave it to me in 1990 when I left for college. His father gave it to him in 1968 when he left for Vietnam.

His grandparents gave it to him when he was confirmed April 6, 1926.

This tattered Bible is one of the two things I put in my backpack in case I had to flee my home during Hurricane Irma.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I learned the true story of this Bible.

When my father was oversees, his unit was the victim of a roadside bombing.

It killed my father’s friend, and badly wounded my Dad. He had shrapnel throughout his body and a permanently damaged eardrum.

In fact, after the bomb went off, the enemy came and stripped my father of everything he had and left him for dead in the dirt on the side of the road.

Everything that is, except for this Bible.

My Dad received the Purple Heart and he returned home to start a family. Like many veterans, he carried deep wounds from the war.

I find comfort in knowing that even though he was left for dead in a strange, foreign wilderness, surrounded by those who tried to hurt him, this Word of God remained by his side.

Could it be that this family Bible, passed down from 1st born male to 1st born male, became some kind of refuge, shelter, fortress, home?

What is home?

In an idealized sense, home is where compassion begins, where we learn how to say “please” and “thank you.”

Home is where we discover that we are loved, we are forgiven and we are part of something bigger then ourselves.

If you are lucky, home is the place in which you are welcomed no matter who we are, and welcomed back when we have gone away or astray.

It’s those places the Pilgrims left behind to get a second chance at life, to have a piece of land to call their own, and to worship God the way they felt best.

Home is the place our veteran’s and current soldiers have left behind for months and for years.

I am sure that for the Pilgrims, and for many of our veterans and soldiers, God would become or is the only home they could count on, even if they were wondering “how long?” and about the toil of human life.

In closing, the psalmist referred to God as the eternal dwelling place.

Did such a statement come from a place of comfort or a place of distress?

Think of where you are in your life. Of where you came from, and all you have been through.

What does it mean for you to say that God is your home?

One writer stated that “Home is the place where when you get there, they take you in.”

If Scripture teaches us anything, and if the life and resurrection of Christ teaches us anything, is that no matter what we go through in life, no matter where we go, no matter what we do-

We will always be welcomed into the home that we call God.

Eternal. Everlasting. Offering grace upon grace upon grace.

For that, we can say “Amen” and amen.