Coming Home to Ourselves

As my spouse and I drove to and from my parents’ house this past Sunday afternoon, I found myself lingering on what it means to come home. Not simply to a dwelling, but rather, a place, or person, or way of living in which we dwell.

I always get rather reflective around my birthdays, so, maybe this is just a remnant of the birthday that just passed–I’m not sure. All I know is that I have been spending a great deal of my time lately making space to dwell on who I’ve been, who I am, and who I’m still becoming.

The more I reflect on becoming, however, the more I realize it’s not always about striving forward. Sometimes, it’s about circling back. Sometimes, becoming looks a lot like returning—to a truer version of ourselves. To what was always there underneath the noise. To the person we were before we learned to perform or protect or prove. Sometimes becoming looks more like coming home.

Like most things in our lives–coming home to ourselves is not a one-time event. It’s more like a rhythm of remembering who we were before we learned to prove, or please, or perfect. And while it might seem like a selfish turn, it is no such thing. In fact, this turn is a sacred one.

In Luke 15, when Jesus tells the story of the prodigal son, there’s a quiet line that often gets overshadowed by the drama of departure and return. “When he came to himself…” (Luke 15:17, CEB) When he came to himself…Before the long walk home. Before the father’s embrace. Before the speech. This son first came to himself.

I have to wonder if that’s where this return trip home always begins–by first coming home to ourselves.

It makes sense to me when I really think about it. After all, one way to understand our faith is to understand it not as a journey of becoming someone or anyone else. Rather, it is a memory walk–a journey of remembering who we have always been: Beloved, enough, already held by grace. In this way, coming home to ourselves is the shoreline of coming home to God.

Jan Richardson is a poet, artist, and ordained United Methodist minister whose work blends deep theological insight with soulful tenderness. In her collection titled The Cure for Sorrow, Richardson shares a beautiful blessing for this journey home:

“Blessing for Coming Home to Yourself” (by Jan Richardson)
When you come home to yourself,
may you enter with gladness,
as one who has long been away
and is welcomed with joy.
May your own arms be the ones
that open to receive you,
the ones that reach across
the distance that you
so often imagine.
May you know the door is always open.
The lights are always on.
And that you are wanted here.
May it not matter
how long you’ve been gone.
May it only matter
that you made it back.

Whether it has recently been your birthday or not, this is the invitation for us all: To come home—not to perfection, not to performance, but to the quiet knowing that each and every one of us are already held…and often, by that version of ourselves we thought was long ago gone. That version God created that comparison and competition covered up over time, but the version that has always existed and always awaits our joyous return with arms wide open.

They say you can’t go home again, but maybe they’re wrong. Because sometimes, grace brings us back to the very place we thought we’d lost—only now, we’re finally ready to be there. So this week, I’m doing my solid best to let go of the pressure to become someone new. Instead, my efforts are focused on coming home to who I already am. And I hope, wherever you are on the journey, you’ll think about joining me and come home to yourself too. 

On the journey with you,
Pr. Melissa

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