Homeless

Home away from home

When I was 19-years-old, I found myself homeless.

I began earning my own way when I was 10-years-old, in the fifth grade. I didn’t think much about it. It was just the way life was and I didn’t know otherwise.

When I started college, I had a job and was sneaking by financially. I didn’t have any extra money, but neither did I have much overhead. I ate one good meal a day most days. I was young, healthy, and life was straightforward.

At nineteen and a Sophomore in college, I found a roommate and we rented a two-bedroom, one-bath house. It wasn’t a great place, but it was a step up—unless you stepped on the right side of the porch. Then, it was a significant and decisive step down. Our arrangement was a good plan that just didn’t work out.

Animals live more civilized than my roommate did. Shortly after we embarked upon our living arrangement, spirits high and friendship burgeoning, I came home—yet again—to a toilet overflowing from my roomie’s generous dump. Apparently, after these efforts upon the throne, he simply pulled up his trousers and walked away. The clumps of his detritus were washed over the bathroom floor. The oozing residue surrounding the clumps made its way into the hallway, onto the hardwood floors, and his fragrance could be scented outside while on the aforementioned porch.

It didn’t take long to pack. I had little. I called upon family friends for an emergency place to take refuge. They were gracious—for about a week. They didn’t throw me out, but their questions and looks told me this arrangement was untenable.

I didn’t mind being out and without. In fact, my gut sense told me I would be better off elsewhere—anywhere else. Once again, it didn’t take long to gather my things.

And once again, I didn’t think much about it. Life and all its turns and twists simply is what it is. It was only later—much later—that I realized what I was: Homeless.

I had a car, and a camp stove, and a sleeping bag, and a pair of work boots with only one crack across the sole of each boot. My socks only got wet when it rained. I lived outside. Like when you go camping.

Except when you go camping, you break camp and go home. And home was something I didn’t have to go to.

In those days, my hair was white-blond. It grew long, past my shoulders, and ran underneath my coat and down the back of my shirt. I cleaned up here and there. A university has Men’s Rooms on every floor, and after hours, you have the whole place to yourself.

I knew of a newly-constructed home on a few acres. The house wasn’t showing well, the realtor had lost interest, and it was surrounded by dense woods. So, I moved there. But only in the dark.

The home was on a downhill slope. After dark each evening I approached in my VW Bug. Once over the hill, I shifted to neutral, shut off the engine, turned off the headlights, and coasted through the darkness, turned into the circuitous drive, and glided to a stop on the backside of the structure.

Easing the car door open, I sat listening to the dark. I feared being found out. Reported. Shamed. Run away. Relegated again to sleep on the ground, or if the weather was wet, my car seat.

It’s a crazy thing to be haunted without a place. Crazy to be surrounded by perceived places and not have one.  

Once satisfied, I grabbed my pack and eased into the pitch-dark of the newly-constructed house. I arranged my bedroll by the ambient light from an intentionally dim flashlight in an interior bathroom.

Morning was a gamble. I left before dawn, but there was no choice other than to start the Bug’s engine and make a run up the hill. No lights. But the engine noise was inescapable. I made breakfast on my camp stove in the park. Life was fine. One day, I would have a home.

As Denver Moore stated at Deborah Hall’s funeral, “The truth about it is, whether we is rich or poor or somethin’ in between, this earth ain’t no final restin’ place. So in a way, we is all homeless—just workin’ our way toward home.”

Jack Lewis observed that all of us, regardless of our place in life, long for home. In each of us, there is a draw toward place, permanence—an insatiable pull toward where we are from, where we belong, where we yearn to be. Yet, home escapes us. Home is inaccessible, the satisfaction of it unrealized, the longing for it unsatiated. Lewis surmised that our unrequited bent toward an elusive home indicates our soul’s awareness that home lies beyond this life. Our true home is not here. It is otherworldly, not to be realized in this life. All of us, rich or poor, young or old, foreign or domestic, sheltered or not, are “just workin our way toward home.”

Your soul is telling you the truth. Your desire is true. Your unassuaged yearning for home is no happenstance. It is the promised drawing of you by God to residence in Him and with Him.

But there is danger—danger so grave that it could cause your soul to lose its wings, or as Plato put it, your soul’s ability to fly with God where He soars, far above the pantheon of other gods, mortal earth, and temporal life.

It is tempting to quell your soul’s true longing with the accoutrements associated with home here. It is tempting to believe that you can, if you will it hard enough and work steadfastly, satisfy and realize your longing for home while yet a resident upon this orb.

I had no place when I was nineteen. What is important to realize is that I have no place at age sixty-six either. Neither do you.  

For us, our theology states that heaven is our home. Regarding earth: We are simply passing through. As to attitude: We are strangers, aliens, and ambassadors.

Such strange concepts—sitting in my leather recliner beside my laughing fire on this cold night in Texas.

But not strange if I understand—truly realize: I’m homeless. I have no lasting place here. I am without permanent address in this life. As the Preacher said in Ecclesiastes, once I’m dead, I will be forgotten to this world—and to embrace within my soul that this is okay.

One set of my grandparents’ ashes are scattered in a pauper’s field in Kansas. My uncle, and brothers, and I set up a stone for them in Poteau, Oklahoma—so the family could be together.

Are they better off? Am I? Are we? Or did their scattered ashes across the prairie simply return more quickly to the dust of the earth than those ashes buried in brass, with a lid screwed tight, surrounded by the soil of a final resting place?

“Dust thou art, to dust returnest, / Was not spoken of the soul,” said Longfellow. My grandparents do not live here, reside here, and neither is the red dirt marked Oakland Cemetery their final resting place.

Nor shall it be mine, I don’t believe.

What’s my point? I’m writing to you to cast a cold analysis on the conviction of my soul—in hopes your soul takes note and shakes off the dust of this moldering slog called life.

Here, I occupy a wonderful dwelling. I have my own closet, and recently, I installed central heating and air. It’s the same temperature in every room of the house. The same fire I cooked on in the rain and snow when homeless now leaps-to-life when I turn a knob in my kitchen. I have a chair on my patio and a chair in my living room. At the end of the day, I crawl into a bed that has legs under it to hold me above the floor. I’ve got a rug, and running water, and a coffee pot, and a garage to contain extra stuff.

But the truth of the matter is, I’m homeless, just in a different way than I was so many years ago when I was in college and my lot in life was vivid. And you are homeless as well. As Denver said, “We is all homeless—just workin’ our way toward home.”

Why is this important to realize and remember?

The constant in homelessness is the screaming reality that this is not how life is supposed to be. I’m supposed to belong. I’m supposed to be placed in a place. Somewhere. Somewhere other than my car or a hacked house in the woods. Somewhere where there is no risk of being found out and cast out as unwelcome.

This constant is your reminder of what it true: You belong to God. You are a member of His family. You are not alone, unwelcome, destitute, inferior, inconvenient, unwanted, or truly homeless.

The gift of this fallen place and from those allied with the dark side is the reminder that this world is not your home. The crazier and darker it is, the more clearly you see the lights of home and the freer you are from any delusion that this place is home or your final place of rest.

What you can’t see—at just this past moment—is the pause I took from my keyboard to ponder.

It is late in Texas, unseasonably cold. I stepped outside and my breath surrounded me. I eyed the few stars visible in the city sky. I thought through my musings to you.

Back inside, I stare at my screen. Tears meander down my cheeks and blur my words.

What gives?

And it occurs to me, in the recesses of my soul: It’s okay. I’m just workin’ my way toward home.

While I’m unhappy with the invasive darkness of these uncertain days, I’m grateful to grasp viscerally that I’m not at home, not dependent upon the government to dispel darkness, and not on my own or alone. Even though I will slip beneath sheets and comforters this evening and feel the heat of Dianne close, I’m not where I belong on this cold night in Texas. That’s okay. Although not at home, I’m at peace.

I am where I belong—for now. I’m an emissary. I’m a man commissioned on a mission. Father has encamped me here to be a light of the Kingdom.

This is true of me. This is true of you.

And so now, Father. It is late. I’m taken with my reminiscence and the reminder has been clarifying. My blond hair is no more. I don’t know what happened to the sleeping bag I laid on the contractor’s carpet so many nights so long ago. I sold the VW—and as you will recall, cried like a baby when I handed over the keys. Every night I cook on an open fire—outside, under the Live Oak. Rain, snow, even sleet, and in Texas, more heat than hell can contain. Father, beyond warming up a store-bought pizza, I don’t even know how to work my oven.

Life is okay, Father, even though I do yearn to be home. Now is not the time. So until you deem the time right, I’m dialed-in tight. My wits are about me. I’m filled with your Spirit, and although the world is cascading into futility, this isn’t my first rodeo. I know whose I am, who I am, and I know the address of my true home. My intent is to pull my hat lower onto my head and keep my boots on. Thus prepared and endowed with the Spirit, I’m livin’ and trustin’ and restin’ and growin’ and…. Well, I’m just workin my way toward home. See you soon, Amen

Living truly is another way of saying you refuse to live under the delusion that this life is your final destination. Fail to be clear about this and you will sense incongruity within yourself. Fail to be clear about this and you will be praying for the mid-term elections to secure equilibrium, security, wellbeing, and solidify your home. Fail to be clear about your homelessness and you will fear being a refugee.

Live truly and no man can touch you, no lasting harm can befall you, and no damnation of you will be eternal. This clarity and a determined embrace of its conviction renders courage.  

After being chased across Germany by the SS, living as a vagabond, apprehended and sentenced maliciously by Hitler himself, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was stripped of his clothes and led naked to the gallows to be hanged with piano wire. His final words?

“This is the end—for me the beginning of life.” And within moments, he was home.

How then will you live?

Catching Up

Tony Clark of VineLife.us and I met on video to discuss the legacy of Lifetime Ministries. While Lifetime’s history is like many others in many respects, the ministry was unique in culture, delivery, and focus. It was a powerful reminiscence with Tony, reflecting on how God did what God does through the ministry of Lifetime. You can view the interview here.

Speaking of Bonhoeffer earlier, here’s some encouragement from his book, Letters and Papers from Prison: “I believe that God can and will bring good out of evil, even out of the greatest evil. For that purpose He needs men who make the best use of everything. I believe that God will give us all the strength we need to help us resist in all times of distress. But He never gives it in advance, lest we should rely on ourselves and not on Him alone.”

And speaking of those under duress for their faith in Jesus Christ, below is an update from Päivi Räsänen’s office within the Parliament of Finland. Note the slander and duplicity and misrepresentation from her accusers.

The more desperate people become to make their lives work apart from Christ, the more desperate their determination to circumnavigate the rule of law and the more hostile their disposition toward those living in peace.

Sadly, Päivi is on trial in Finland and millions more are on trial with her around the world. As I have written before, now would be a great time for you to say to God, “What would you have me do, Father? It’s no mistake that I’m living in this era. I understand that doing nothing is a bad choice, so guide my focus and my steps, please. Amen”

PRESS RELEASE

24.1.2022

Member of Parliament Päivi Räsänen

The Court will weigh the state of freedom of speech and religion in Finland

I am relieved that this long waited and heavy day is now over. I hope that the court will acquit both me and Juhana Pohjala from all the charges and declare us not guilty. Continuation of the trial is expected on February 14th. After that, the decision of the court comes approximately in one month. I wait for it with a calm and hopeful mind.

The decision of the court has consequences not only to Christians’ freedom to express their conviction, but to everyone else’s also. In the court, I appealed to the Constitution of Finland and to international conventions that guarantee freedom of speech and religion. I will not back off from my conviction based on the Bible. The case is extremely important for freedom of speech and religion.

In all the charges, I deny any wrongdoing. My writings and statements under investigation are linked to the Bible's teachings on marriage, living as a man and a woman, as well as the Apostle Paul's teaching on homosexual acts. The teachings concerning marriage and sexuality in the Bible arise from love to one’s neighbor, not from hate towards a group of people.

The prosecution makes a number of false, inaccurate, even untrue allegations about my views. I categorically reject the Prosecutor’s characterization of my beliefs. I stress that I have repeatedly emphasized that all human beings are created in the image of God and have equal dignity and human rights. In the passage to which the prosecutor has referred, reference was made to the biblical account of creation. Referring to it, I stated: “In the beginning, God created a man and a woman and intended marriage to be between the two. I regard homosexuals as fully equal humans and, in addition, equally worthy human beings created in the image of God.”

The points of view for which I am accused do not deviate from so-called classical Christianity, nor does my view on marriage deviate from the official policy of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland. Since Christianity is the dominant state religion in Finland, it is reasonable to assume that views such as these are widely disseminated in religious communities in Finland – in social media as well as in private events. Likewise, the prosecution's interpretation would have a material impact on the narrowing of the scope of religious freedom in Finland – and is therefore highly damaging from the perspective of fundamental rights.

The possible sentence for the crime of ethnic agitation would be up to two years imprisonment or a fine. But an even more serious problem would be the resulting censorship: an order to remove social media updates or a ban on posting. The sentence would open the floodgates to a ban on similar publications and the threat of modern book burnings. It is my honor to defend freedom of speech and religion.

It is likely that the charges will be taken to higher courts, even to the European Court of Human Rights. I am ready to defend freedom of speech and religion in all necessary courts.

According to my knowledge, the court has to for the first time take a stand on whether it is legal or not to cite the Bible. The judges have to weigh the relations between the foundational rights and the criminal law and the interrelationship between different foundational laws.

I have carefully gone through all my writings and statement, that are now being scrutinized, and I stand behind these thoughts that derive from the classical Christianity. I feel it is my honor to defend freedom of speech and religion. I defend the right to confess the Christian faith and its teaching on the human being.

The main hearing of the charges brought against me by the Prosecutor General (R 21/3567 took place today on 24 January 2022 at 9.30 am at the Helsinki District Court.

The process started more than two years ago, in June 2019, when I posted a tweet addressing a question to the leadership of my church that had signed up to support Pride. The main content of my post was a screenshot of verses 24-27 from the book of Romans chapter 1 from the New Testament. The aim of my criticism was the leadership of my own church, not any minority. According to the Church Act, approved by our Parliament, “all doctrine must be examined and evaluated according to God’s Holy Word”.

Following a preliminary investigation launched because of a citizen's complaint, a total of five criminal complaints were filed. On 22 April 2021, the Prosecutor General brought three separate charges against me for the tweet, a pamphlet I had written in 2004, " Male and female He created them” and a humorous radio interview with Ruben Stiller, “What would Jesus think about homosexuals?”.

The police did not consider any crime to have been committed in these two latter cases, but the Prosecutor General nevertheless ordered preliminary investigations to be carried out. Bishop Juhana Pohjola, the Dean of Evangelical Lutheran Mission Diocese of Finland, was also charged with being responsible for publishing and making available the pamphlet.

I want to warmly thank those thousands of people that have supported me during this personally trying process.

Päivi Räsänen

Member of Parliament of Finland