Nostalgia, Belonging, Disappointments and the Sovereign Purposes of God

How do the interpersonal struggles of our lives point us to the pleasures of eternity?

Almost without exception, each summer of my adult life has been marked by a trip to my folks and my childhood home in rural, coastal New Hampshire. Now in my forties, the visits come with much of the euphoric, rose-colored nostalgia of my youth.  Indeed, it would not be a trip home without a visit (or several) to my favorite sandwich shop, ice cream stand and restaurant – all capped by a trip or two to Great Island Common, a picturesque seaside park on the eastern tip of the New Hampshire coast that overlooks three lighthouses, a historic life saving station, and the Isles of Shoals.  As a child, our family would spend most Wednesday evenings during the summer, picnicking with my grandmother and our neighbors, enjoying the cool ocean breezes, exploring the rocky tidal pools, and running around the park’s soft, grassy field. And now, decades removed from my own childhood, it’s been such a blessing to watch our own children grow up enjoying a taste of those same things.    

But even amidst all the joy of these moments, there is this nagging sense that even here, I don’t quite feel at home.  If I’m honest, even my own home of twenty-some years doesn’t always feel like home either, despite the warm presence of my family and the life we have built there. In church, too, among fellow saints, that sense of belonging can be at times elusive.  Even when we find kindred spirits in a brother or sister in Christ – people with whom we share a tremendous amount of passion, purpose and conviction – yet even there, we encounter differences that can be discouraging – discovering a brother in arms may side with your opponent in this area or that. It’s easy in those moments to feel let down, to feel a sort of tension and tumult that is downright discombobulating.  It’s a lonely feeling – like you’re the only one that sees and experiences the world and the Word like you do. Perhaps I feel this sting more than most.  I would not be surprised if that’s the case.  But regardless of the degree, I believe it’s a common human experience. So, why is it that many of us never quite feel at home? 

Out of Place, But on Purpose

In the past, I’ve somewhat jokingly and absurdly attributed my own condition to being born about four centuries too late – my Puritan sensibilities and awkwardness making me struggle to feel at home with aspects of life in the twenty-first century.  But I’m not so sure it’s that simple or fanciful. Notwithstanding, I have no doubt I am loved by many; by my family, friends and church family alike, despite my oddities – and certainly beyond what I deserve.  But nonetheless I often feel to one degree or another a bit askew and out of place – like an old analog radio a fraction of a degree off of the right frequency.  And recently, that got me thinking; perhaps that’s precisely the point.  After all, beyond any earthly citizenship or fealty, we Christians belong to a world that is far beyond and above even our best and deepest earthly bonds. Could it be that our earthly differences and disappointments are intentional, God-given imperfections meant to point us to the day when all will be made perfect?  

Let’s be honest – our temptation is to look to the world around us, and try to make this our forever home.  Billions are spent every month to convince us that this bed, or that car, or this house, or that drug is just what we need to finally feel content and at home.  So much of the politics of the last forty years has been built, left and right, around making America into a place where my group of Americans feel safe, comfortable and at home.  We chase nostalgia in hopes of finding a home in the past that is only rightly found in our future eternal home.  So perhaps, as a means of God’s grace toward His saints, He ordains these disquieting moments to point us to the Celestial City beyond the Jordan – to our heavenly city to come.    

“For our citizenship is in heaven, from which also we eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ; who will transform the body of our humble state into conformity with the body of His glory, by the exertion of the power that He has even to subject all things to Himself.”

Philippians 3:20, 21, NASB 1995

As part of God’s creation, perhaps it’s not too much of a stretch to assume that we, like the very earth beneath our feet, down to our very DNA, long for the day when all things will be made right.  I’d argue, that’s precisely the point (or at least one of the points) Romans 8:18-25 makes.  In this world, we are bound to suffer (18) from the effects of sin, satan, and the curse’s impact on the world.  Disunity, fractured friendships, persecution, war, disease, famine, natural disasters, and countless other hardships impact humanity daily.  So much of this can feel like futility (20), but for the Christian, the text makes it clear that it is nothing of the sort.

The futility we feel when our car breaks down, or a thunderstorm upends our outdoor plans, or a little disagreement blows up into a giant mess – it can all feel a bit pointless.  But Romans 8 doesn’t allow us to stay there.  In the very same sentence where the curse of futility is laid out, we see that the Lord, in His sovereign goodness, has subjected creation to this futility in hope. It has a purpose!  And unlike our modern wishy-washy notion of hope, this hope is as rock-solid as a block of granite.  Indeed, as we read on in Romans 8:26-39, this hope is tied to a chain of amazing, all-encompassing promises for the believer that not only secures the certainty of our eternal destiny, but also promises God’s good purposes will unfold in every aspect and circumstance of our daily lives.  And this promise extends not just to the outwardly good things, but just as much (and you could argue based on 2 Corinthians 4:16-18, perhaps even more) in the hardships, God is working out our greatest good as he measures out and distributes the hardships and sufferings we experience. As Romans 8 so beautifully points out, there is a purpose in the futility – a grand, glorious and hope-filled purpose for each and every elect child of the King.  

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the anxious longing of the creation waits eagerly for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now. And not only this, but also we ourselves, having the first fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our body. For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it.”

Romans 8:18-25, NASB 1995

Practical Help for the Homeless Saint

This truth has been of significant solace to me over the last six months, as I have grappled with the growing divide between my own convictions and that of the only church home I’ve known for the last twenty-something years. It is a harrowing thing to realize the church you envision and long for and the church your brothers are building are not one in the same.  And it’s made all-the-harder, knowing that each of these brothers sincerely love the Lord, faithfully serve Him, and want to see His church prosper just like you do, but yet we still struggle to see eye to eye on what precisely that means.  It would be a lot easier if the church started teaching heresy – that’s cut and dry. This isn’t. It’s disquieting, confusing and disheartening.  I am struggling to make sense of it all, and I suspect they are too. Were it not for my conviction that the Lord is absolutely sovereign and unwaveringly good, I would have likely thrown in the towel a long time ago. 

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.“

1 Corinthians 13:12, NASB 1995

One truth in particular that has sustained me as I have struggled to understand how myself, and brothers I love and have joyfully served alongside – in some cases for well over a decade – could drift so far apart, is the persuasion that there is a day coming – a day very soon in the grand scheme of eternity – when we will fully know Christ even as we have been fully known (1 Corinthians 13:12).   You know what that means?  All my pride, all my theological errors, all my incorrect emphases, all the worldly logic that has unconsciously wormed its way into my understanding of God’s Word – it will all be replaced with humble, errorless truth and understanding. And the same will be true for every single saint, including those brothers with whom I now find myself in disagreement.  This vapor of theological and ministerial disagreement will very soon be wisped away and replaced with pure, perfect, abiding and unadulterated unity in the presence of our King.  This disagreement, though it feels massive now, is but a temporal blip on the radar of our eternal friendship – a sovereignly placed bump in the road, fitting us all the more for our greatest joy in eternity. 

A Better Day is Coming!

Regardless of where you’re feeling the tension of being not quite home – one of a myriad of discomforting scenarios that shine like a spotlight on the imperfections of this world that we are otherwise so tempted to call home – we can rest assured that the Lord is at work, giving us these bitter providences as a means of grace, pointing us to a day when we will be forever free from the conflict that is part and parcel of the world we know.

May the Lord grant us each this long-view of our trials and disappointments, so that we might respond in hope, trusting that whatever God ordains is right, looking not to our earthly condition, but the glories that await us in the life to come.