Home

Tis the season – of wild geese. The seasons are changing, and with the crispness to the air comes the honking of the geese, as they head about in formation to begin their journey southward to their winter homes.

I’ve seen a lot of geese lately, and they have made me ponder of the homeness of ‘home’. What does home mean? Is it an address? A collection of people? A time on a calendar or clock?

The geese are always heading to their ‘home’ – for home travels with them. Unlike other birds, they wait until they need to move on before they do. When they fly, they intend to stay together - the weakest or slowest bird sets the pace at the start of the V formation. They stop at places that are either known as landmarks, or have a magnetic resonance – and there they remain until all members of the flock are able to fly again with renewed energy and recovery of any ailments.

For geese, home is a concept: it is a (series of) relationship(s), it is the place that nourishes them, it is the place where they take rest for restoration. Home is a concept where no one is excluded or left behind, where the health of everyone is considered, where well-being is a collective assessment. It’s a reality that is created and supported by the entirety of the community.

In short, home is love.

It is the place where love is found, where love is known, where love is shared. A place where
For those of us with faith, home is where we find God – which means that home can be anywhere. It also means that our holy places have been trusted with the honour and obligation to be responsible for maintaining ‘home’ space for all.

For God is already with us: love is already with us. When we see the world through eyes of faith, we realise we are already home even while we are searching for home.

Like the geese: returning home again: for whatever distractions of the world, our innermost souls know the way home – and are leading us there.



Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese”
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.