the comforts of home

i’m a reformed christian, which means the idea of “comfort” means a great deal to me.

during my oral comprehensive exam at seminary, i was asked which insight or idea arising from the protestant reformation was the most significant. there’s a lot of correct answers to this question: the reformation helped europe buck ecclesiastical oppression, it helped winnow down the metaphysical excesses of western church doctrine, it ultimately gave rise to the enlightenment era in european history, etcetera, etc.

inspired by my church’s catechism, i chose to answer “comfort.” the doctrinal and cultural disputes of the reformation are fascinating and important, of course, and i think that if i had delved into any of those areas, my answer would have been acceptable. but i think “comfort” was the better answer because it demonstrates that theological disputes of the reformation were not just dispassionate intellectual exercises, but were spiritually and emotionally significant to people. for instance, the doctrine of god’s sovereignty is a fine topic for theological discussion, but its real importance lies in how it brings comfort to people who may otherwise experience life as nasty, brutish and short.

those three things certainly characterized life in 16th century europe, with its warfare, its diseases, and its sense that the world was rife with hostile spirits. things aren’t that much different today, either, which is why the comfort that comes from reformation insights into the nature of god is still so relevant.

considering all that, it might seem a little ironic that i find so much discussion of the comforts of faith to be bothersome. i find it a little frustrating because i think a lot of it comes from a condescending attitude held about religious people.

i’ve often heard people defend the dignity of religious people by saying things like: “i don’t like how hitchens/dawkins/maher pick on religious people. if religious people get some sort of comfort from their beliefs, then they should be left alone.”

on the surface, the folks who say these things are defending people of faith, and i suppose that means they are, in some way, allies. part of me wants to say “thanks for the support.” but still, it chafes a little to hear sentiments like this, because i think they contain an implicit suggestion that faith is little more than a metaphysical teddy bear or security blanket — something to cling to in order to feel secure, despite the fact that it doesn’t really have any real, measurable effect on the world around them. maybe it comes from some quasi-freudian idea that faith is mere wish-projection, a fantasy dreamed up to give comfort in an indifferent universe — faith as mere fairy-tale, something held on to by simple-minded people who lack the stoic resolve to stare down the pointless cosmos.

so, after saying “thanks for the support,” i feel compelled to add: “but faith is about so much more than comfort!”

what is it about, then? i suppose one could say “everything,” like st. paul does when he commandeers epimenides’ poem in acts 17.28. but that’s pretty broad, and maybe not the most interesting answer. i need a better answer – something that would help people understand why i think christianity is such a big deal, why it’s important for reasons other than an insipid kind of comfort.

i’ve been reading this book, and i think it’s giving me an idea of what to say.

if people ask for an “in a nutshell” answer to what christianity is, i think i’ll tell them that it’s about coming home.

home, when it functions as it should, evokes so many things: being welcomed, being understood, being fed, being supported. it evokes warmth and familiarity, qualities that come from being brought into the presence of those who care and love.

human beings, ushered into a loving presence: this is the very core of what salvation is.

that homecoming is a fundamental characteristic of christianity is evident from the way we structure our worship. the liturgy contains all the elements of home: we are greeted, and we welcome others. we are understood through the confession and assurance. we share our joy and sorrow in the reading of psalms. we are fed in the eucharist.

there’s comfort in all of this, but it’s of a different sort. it’s not the comfort of a fairytale security blanket, but the comfort of being welcomed, known and loved, here, in this world. the comfort of being brought near. and it moves beyond comfort, too: at the end of the liturgy, we are sent. we’re sent out, sometimes as sheep amongst wolves, to help show the way home to fellow travelers, displaced folk, and other itinerants.

christianity as homecoming. i think there’s something to it. maybe that’s what the evangelist was getting at when he wrote about the word becoming flesh, and making his home among us.