Going "Home".

It's always strange feeling to go "home." I've lived in the United States now as long as I've lived in Canada, and my true "home" is most certainly in Oregon. But there is a sort of way that "home" is also the familiar people and places where you spend your formative years. In that sense, the city of Sherwood Park, Alberta, is my "home." Sherwood Park is a bedroom community for the nearby city of Edmonton -- the capital of the Canadian province of Alberta. This week brought me a chance to go "home" for a few days -- back to the community where I was born, and raised, where I went to church and to school, where I played, and worked, the place that I called "home" for so many years.  Home isn't the same as it was when I was living here, of course. The small town that I grew up in has grown -- new buildings have been built, old ones torn down. Freeways have been added, and businesses have sprung up around them. Where there were once golden canola fields as far as the eye could see, there are now car dealerships and hotels, and restaurants. Yet, memories abound: the McDonald's restaurant and the Tim Hortons bakery where I worked; the transit mall where I'd catch the bus home from High School, or the parks I'd play in as a kid are all still familiar places.

I lived for only one year at the place my parents live -- we moved into that home on Village Road during my senior year of high school -- and so the house which they have called home for 20 years still feels like a new house to me. And, our family isn't hte same as it was when I moved away in 1998.  We were a family of six, and now we are a family nearing 20. Our circle has expanded to include wives, and nephews, and nieces. We couldn't all be together this time around -- one missing brother, plus Amy and the kids stayed back. In spite of that, we made the most of these few July days together. We sat on the back deck of my parents' home, overlooking the 5th hole of the nearby golf course near. We enjoyed the goodness of life -- a barbecued dinner, a glass of wine, and a 2-year-old's birthday. We laughed together over old jokes, we caught up with what is new in each others' lives, and we rehearsed again the the stories that made our family who we are.

We are deeply formed by the communities that we belong to -- particularly those communities we are a part of when we are young.  These "communities" include the neighborhoods in which we live and work and do business. They are the places where we worship and the people with whom we worship. They are our families who are forged with us through the joys and trials of life. Coming "home" for these few days (like most times) has always meant returning to these places that have formed me deeply.

Maranatha Christian Reformed Church is one of those places. Maranatha is a congregation 60 years in the making -- a church borne out of the Dutch emigration to Canada in the 1950's. It's a congregation with deep Reformed roots, and a tradition of worship and witness going back to the Old Country. A good number of the members -- my dad included -- have been members since the church was founded, and have a legacy of serving faithfully over the decades. The men and women of this congregation have served as elders and deacons; they have run the food pantry, they have cared for the poor in the community, and they have helped refugees begin a new life in Canada. Week in and week out, the church has listened to the preaching of God's word, and they have worshipped him in Spirit and in truth.  It was as a member of Maranatha that God began to call me to ministry, and it was through this faith community that God shaped my faith.

And so it was a privilege this weekend to stand at the pulpit where I first heard the gospel, and preach to this group of familiar faces. Faces that included Sunday School teachers, Cadet (Boy's Club) counselors, High School Youth Group leaders, and many dear saints who have aged a little, but were still the same familiar faces. Formative people. I preached from 1 Peter 1:3-9, a passage on hope in the face of adversity. I recalled the many people who have suffered adversity over the years. Widows & widowers, the ill, and those have lost their loved ones. Some of the seats were missing those who had been promoted to glory.

Myself and Mrs Gout-- I mean, Shirley.

My Uncle Clarence and myself.

 In the evening, I preached the same sermon, in a different church -- another local Christian Reformed Church, where my Uncle attends. I didn't know it at the time, but my kindergarten teacher attends there too, and we enjoyed catching up before the service. It turns out, a lot changes between kindergarten, and where I am now. I couldn't quite bring myself to call her "Shirley" -- she'd always been "Mrs. Goutbeck" -- but as she reminded me, if I went back to calling her Mrs. Goutbeck, she'd have to go back to calling me "Robbie."  And to round out the evening, my 12th grade math teacher also came to visit, a teacher that had a positive impact on me, in spite of my glaring lack of math skills. Formative people, and formative places.

We are formed by the communities that we are a part of. The families, the churches, the kindergarten classes, and the math classes. Today, I'm immensely thankful for the communities I've been a part of.

This painting hangs in the basement of the Maranatha church. It was painted by a founding member -- Nick Spronk Sr., and it represents the way the building looked when it was first built. As you'll see in the photo above, some things have changed -- an addition was added in the 1980's, and the roof is no longer the same red color. But many things remain the same

Maranatha has a growing and vibrant ministry to the Karen refugees of Burma. Their worship services run simultaneously, and the blending of cultures has, I suspect, been a great blessing to both groups.

This crocheted "Lord's Prayer" hanging was made by my Oma shortly after my Opa passed away, I believe.  (That's "Grandma" and "Grandpa" respectively, for you non-Dutch folks!). Oma & Opa were charter members of the church, shortly after their emigration in 1952. It has hung in the lobby of the church for nearly 30 years, and has become an part of the decor.