Are we working from home, or are our homes working on us?
I think we can all agree that one of the many things our country is divided on right now is the concept of working from home. Some of us love it; others hate it. Homes have long been viewed as a sanctuary for Western culture and its inhabitants; an escape from their work or profession, a place they can retreat to that is designed for rest, renewal and reconfiguration of both mind and spirit.
Well, at least we try to make it that way.
The idealistic perspective of home has likely shifted now that 42 percent of our country is working from home. Workspaces and private places have collided, resulting in every bit and piece of our livelihood residing under one roof.
While this has spelled disaster for a large chunk of our population, another group finds themselves thriving in their neo-environment. Those two perspectives aren’t quite at odds with one another, but there is a perpetual confusion when looking at the other, fingers pointed and whispering to their comrades, “What’s up with them?”
I consider Americans’ revisitation of the idea, place and thought of home as a beneficial product of the COVID-19 quarantine. I think the perpetual reevaluation of daily life has us all remembering that home is not always a physical place.
When I was still living in East Lansing while working at St Matthew, my commute home was one hour and seven minutes. I know this because every time I get in my car after work, Google Maps connects to Bluetooth and, unprovoked, says “1 hr 7 min to home” in a banner at the top of my phone.
The volume of time spent at my college house has led to my personal devices thinking I still live there and not here in Grand Rapids, a small, semi-sweet reminder of the people, place and memories I left after moving here. I can say, though, how thankful I am that I don’t have to drive an hour on I-96 to-and-from work every day anymore.
For people my age, home is often their parents’ house or the town they grew up in. I remember leaving La Grange, Illinois after a weekend visit in the fall of 2019 and, for the first time, saying I was “going home to East Lansing.” My mother, horrified, stared into my eyes and defensively stated, “This is your home.”
Much to her dismay and an internal tinge of guilt, I was telling the truth. Over the course of four years, Michigan had become my home. The place I felt welcomed, loved, comfortable and free to make each of my choices. Not to say my family doesn’t make me feel at home (my mom and dad are a picture of hospitality), but I have to consider who I became over the past few, formative years of my life. This Aidan, the one I am now, is home in Michigan. I’m reminded that every day when I leave St Matthew and my phone still says “1 hr 7 min to home.”
When my now-former roommates and I moved the last of our belongings out of our East Lansing house last week, I was hit much harder by the wave of bitter farewell than I thought I would. But it wasn’t the house (that bizarre, outdated, welcoming house) it was hard to say goodbye to; it was who I shared it with.
Home, to me, is much more about the people than the abode. When I was leaving, I didn’t see walls or floors or furniture that made me who I am; I saw faces that reminded me of every late-night conversation, tear-filled laugh and warm embrace that shaped me into this Aidan.
When you spend enough time with people, you start to mirror and mimic their actions, words and gestures. Luckily for me, my friends have shown me reflections of Jesus time and time again, and still do. Knowing them has made all the difference in me knowing Him.
It’s important to remember that Jesus and the disciples didn’t have a house during their three years together. The Israelites wandered and camped out in the desert for 40 years. After his encounter with the risen Christ on the road to Damascus, Paul’s closest thing to a house were the prison cells he constantly found himself in.
In the disciples’ case, they left their homes to follow Jesus. He called Simon Peter and Andrew out of their boat to come follow Him. He called James and John out of their father’s boat to come follow Him. He called Matthew out of his tax stall to come follow him. Jesus called these men out of their homes, the places they knew so well, the people they lived life with to make a new home with Him. For the next three years, they traveled, ministered, camped and learned from the Messiah. He became the home they longed for and, later, the one they hoped to return to.
During those three years, however, the disciples were constantly thrown into a life of uncertain adventure and political danger, all the while left with no place to take a load off or retreat to at the end of the day. Jesus highlights this when teaching on the cost of following Him, noting that “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20 NIV). While we know the joy and blessing that comes with following Jesus, we can be sure that reasonable expectations of comfort are never promised.
It was being made known to the disciples that the thing they were to call home was the Son of Man. We see striking character development in the Gospels and constantly-changing hearts as they experienced life on the road with Him. If you truly begin to mirror the people you spend time with, as I mentioned before, there is no better person to become more like than Jesus of Nazareth.
When we spend more time at home (or with home, in my definition), we begin to feel and act like them as well. It’s one of the many reasons why prayer is so important to our faith; we are more likely to act and live like Jesus when we regularly spend time with Him.
When we spend more time at home (or with home, in my definition), we begin to feel and act like them as well. It’s one of the many reasons why prayer is so important to our faith; we are more likely to act and live like Jesus when we regularly spend time with Him.
When leaving work the other day, I noticed something had changed. When my phone connected to my car’s bluetooth, it now said “12 min to home” along the top of the screen. Perhaps my phone finally registered that the new city and environment I wander day after day is no longer strange, but the place I’m starting to call home. I have the privilege to know my new home by the new faces I see every day: roommates, neighbors, co-workers, friends both old and new.
Grand Rapids is not home because of my apartment, neighborhood or even the St Matthew building. It’s home because these people are a mirror reflection of Christ. Through their love, kindness, grace and spirit-filled attitudes each day I am reminded that I am most at home when I focus on Him and seek His face in each of theirs.
I am thankful, though, that my definition of home throws proximity out the window. I know I seek a heavenly home above all else, but I am also thankful that God provides for us the means of which we can feel at home on earth. I love that I get to call La Grange, Chicago, Lansing, Grand Rapids and many other towns in Michigan, home.
Miles of highway and state lines don’t determine who I call home.