“For our conversation is in heaven; from whence also we look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.” Philippians 3:20
On an overcast day, we gathered together to mourn the death of Tammy Combs. Her metallic gray casket sat toward the front of our hometown church. Flower arrangements of pinks, yellows, reds, and purples surrounded it.
The church that had seemed so big to me as a child now seemed so small. It was crowded with people who had known her and loved her. Who still did. The pews filled up quickly. Latecomers sat in folding chairs in the aisles and along the back wall. Those who couldn’t find a seat stood in silence in the foyer. Grief is shared best in silence.
The old preacher walked up on the platform and stood tall in the pulpit behind the casket. He read Scripture in a baritone voice. "...that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope." His funeral sermon was filled with words of comfort. He ended by saying, “And she lives on.”
When the preacher finished speaking, a recording of Tammy singing The Old Rugged Cross was played. Throughout her life, Tammy often sang in church. Now in her death, she sang there again.
I grew up with Tammy, but I hadn’t seen her in years. We stayed in touch only through Facebook. Now, it took her funeral to bring me back home. Over twenty years had passed since I had stepped foot in our hometown church. After high school graduation, I joined the US Army, and trips back home became less frequent. Everything seemed so different. The place had changed.
Inside, the church was filled with people from my youth. I didn’t recognize many of them, and some didn’t recognize me. Age has caught up with us. As with the place, everyone seemed so different. The people have changed.
Somehow, I feel different, too. When I left home, I was lost. Then Jesus Christ found me, and He saved my soul. I am different. I have changed.
There is an old saying: You can’t go home again. As I reflect on all these changes—the church, the people, and myself—I realize this is true. The hometown I remember and the person I was are both memories now. This change in place and self is part of the main lesson: our true, lasting home is not found on earth.
When I think about home, I don’t think so much about a place anymore. Instead, I think of people—my wife, Amanda, and our children. They make home – home. At least, on this earth.
However, this world is not my home. The Bible says that if you are a believer in Jesus Christ, your citizenship is in Heaven. When I think of my future home, I think of a Person. I think about Jesus. He makes Heaven – Heaven.
The point is that all of us are pilgrims on a journey in this land. Someday, if the Lord tarries, each of us will die and go to our eternal home. If you belong to Jesus, then you’ll be with Jesus in a home called Heaven. If you don’t belong to Jesus, then you’ll spend eternity separated from Jesus in a home called hell. I urge you—consider where you want your true home to be. Choose Jesus today, and find eternal life with Him.
The death of my friend, Tammy, made me homesick. Not for a small town in Southeast Oklahoma. No. I am homesick for Heaven. I am homesick to be with Jesus.
My heart longs for home.
