St. James Day IV

Going Home Again

And he did not do many deeds of power there, because of their unbelief.

 — Matthew 13:58

There is something extraordinary about returning to a place where we once belonged. The buildings may be familiar, the streets recognizable, and the memories surprisingly vivid. Yet we return as different people, carrying years of experiences that those who knew us long ago could scarcely have imagined. And sometimes we discover that the people and places we thought we knew so well held possibilities we never recognized at the time. This morning's reading from Matthew describes a homecoming that did not go particularly well. Jesus returned to his hometown, where the people remembered his family and his upbringing. They were astonished by his teaching, but their familiarity with him became an obstacle. Wasn't this the carpenter's son? Didn't they know his mother and his brothers? How could someone they had known since childhood have become anything extraordinary?

One of those brothers was James, whose feast we have been observing this week. Matthew actually names him among Jesus' family members. Elsewhere in the Gospels, we learn that Jesus' brothers did not initially believe in him. Yet something changed. Paul records that the risen Jesus appeared to James, and James eventually became a respected leader of the early Christian community in Jerusalem. We aren't told everything that happened along the way, but the transformation is remarkable. The brother who had once struggled to recognize what was happening in his own family became someone whose judgment and leadership helped shape the future of the Church. Perhaps James discovered something about his brother that had been difficult to see while they were growing up together.

I have been thinking about this during my own return to St. James Episcopal Church in Dexter, Michigan. From 1977 to 1980, I served as the church's organist. I was a young man then, learning the rhythms of worship and enjoying long conversations with our rector, Fr. Harry Schaefer. I remember the consistency of the services, the familiar prayers, and the words of Scripture that became part of my understanding of faith. Nearly fifty years later, those memories remain remarkably clear. Just yesterday, a passage from Corinthians brought back the Comfortable Words of the Episcopal liturgy, including the assurance that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. It is fascinating how something we heard repeatedly in our youth can return decades later with renewed meaning. Sometimes we don't fully recognize what we're receiving until many years afterward.

My interest in returning to people and places from the past has also taken another form in recent years. Through family genealogy, I have been working to identify and reconnect with distant cousins, including relatives I have never met. We may have grown up in different communities, attended different churches, and developed very different perspectives on life. Yet we share a family history, even when we know little about one another. I have sometimes wondered whether our divided Christian denominations might learn something from this. Churches that have separated over serious disagreements still share centuries of history, Scripture, worship, and faith. Like distant cousins, they may have more in common than they remember. Reconnection need not erase differences. It may simply begin with a willingness to recognize one another again.

And that brings me back to the people of Nazareth. Their difficulty was not that Jesus had become a stranger, but that they were so certain they already knew him. Familiarity had narrowed their expectations. I wonder how often I do the same thing. Have I decided that someone I knew long ago could not possibly have changed? Have I allowed an old disagreement to define a relationship permanently? Have I overlooked the gifts of a familiar community because I assumed I had already seen everything it had to offer? Perhaps one of the greatest opportunities of returning home is the chance to look again—with greater experience, greater humility, and a willingness to be surprised.

Matthew's account ends on a somber note. Jesus did not perform many mighty works in his hometown because of their unbelief. Yet the larger story did not end there. James eventually came to recognize what he had not understood before. And perhaps that is the hopeful conclusion to our own stories of homecoming. The people we once knew may have grown. We may have grown ourselves. Relationships that seemed permanently settled may still have room for discovery, reconciliation, and renewed friendship. Sometimes going home isn't about returning to what we remember. It's about discovering what we are finally ready to see.

Epilogue: A Visit to St. James

This afternoon, I returned to St. James Episcopal Church in Dexter for the first time since 1980, when I completed my three years as the church's organist. Although I had lived nearby for much of the intervening forty-six years, I had never made that return visit. Unfortunately, I arrived after the church office had closed.

I had hoped to get a photograph for this reflection. And as it happened, my friend Satya came by. He and his family had become dear friends of my mother through their years as neighbors in the community where I lived until recently. Satya graciously took the photographs, and before we parted, we made plans to get together for lunch.                                                                

I came to revisit a place that had been part of my life nearly half a century ago. I left with a renewed connection to someone who is part of my life today.

Perhaps that's one of the wonderful things about going home. Sometimes the most meaningful discovery isn't something we remember. It's something that happens while we're there.

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