A Better Country

In these peculiar days and times, I feel much more at home with the covering provided by the moniker of exile. In the midst of the political turmoil and social division that only seems to escalate every hour, I have come to more deeply understand (or perhaps I am just beginning to understand) what the apostle Peter meant when he wrote that the people of God should conduct themselves with fear throughout the time of their exile (1 Peter 1:17-19). 

That might sound strange, I know - especially for someone like me. If you were to look at my current living situation, you might be tempted to slap me and scold me for even suggesting that I can relate to the term exile. I was born in the United States, making me a citizen of this nation by birth; I currently live in the midst of the rolling hills that I’ve called home all of my life; I have a house that I return to at the end of every day. So I am fully aware that nothing about this sounds particularly exilic.

And yet I, along with many others of the faith, somehow feel Not at Home even in the places that we have always called home. We experience deep pangs and yearnings for Something or Someone that feels far off, pangs and yearnings that are often hallmarks for those who wear the name of exile (or sojourner or wanderer). We find these longings vividly awakened in moments of disappointment and frustration, like when the bombs of terrorists go off or when the blight of racism rears its ugly head or when children suffer senselessly. But even in our most At Home moments, the moments when we are surprised by laughter or by a quiet amber sunset, we still taste these pangs and yearnings.

Perhaps you find yourself feeling the same unexpected homesickness, even as you drive the same roads you’ve always driven and talk to the same people you’ve always known and loved. How can this be? In short, it is because this world is not our home. At least, it isn’t yet. That’s how one author stated it (though for the life of me I cannot recall or accurately Google who it was). 

But Our Citizenship

When the apostle Paul composed a letter to the church at Philippi, he illuminated this point brilliantly and brightly. 

“Join together in following my example, brothers and sisters, and just as you have us as a model, keep your eyes on those who live as we do. For, as I have often told you before and now tell you again even with tears, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their destiny is destruction, their god is their stomach, and their glory is in their shame. Their mind is set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body” (Philippians 3:17–21, emphasis mine).

Those who remain enemies of Christ are currently, and tragically, the most At Home they will ever be. Their citizenship rests in the country of Self-Indulgence and False Worship, and they live according to the self-serving law of that country. When we think about it in these terms, it’s easier to grasp why the people of God might feel Not at Home in these troubling and distressing days. We live according to a different reign. Notice the contrasting preposition in verse 20: Paul says that the enemies of Christ set their minds on earthly things, “But our citizenship is in heaven.”

The Christian finds their true citizenship in a coming country, a city built by the Grand Architect of all things (Hebrews 11:10). And that means, in a mysterious sense, that we are exiles; that we acutely know the heartbreak of homesickness; and that our highest allegiance and devotion does not rest in the flag of any particular nation or in the ruler of any particular government - though we are certainly called to pray for governments and rulers and nations (1 Timothy 2:1-2). In fact, we are called to proactively use the freedom we've been given to live for the flourishing of our cities in the midst of our exile, as we wait for our ultimate redemption (Jeremiah 29:7).

Christ the King

But at the last analysis, our hearts belong to a King whose kingdom is not of this world, and yet a kingdom that has broken into this world through the work of God (John 18:36, Colossians 1:13). We must remember this if we are to make a lasting and effective difference with our lives. One of the great temptations of feeling exiled is to live a resigned life, to withdraw from the world and chalk the whole thing up as a loss. But God has preempted our retreat, and asks us to actively live as subjects of his rule here and now (1 Peter 1:17-19, Colossians 1:9-12). All of our choices ought to be shaped by the reality that Christ is our true King. All of our decisions ought to be molded by the knowledge that our citizenship belongs to the land of his dominion - how we speak to our neighbors, conduct our work, treat our families, plant our gardens, consume our media, spend our money, everything.

As we do this, we prepare ourselves for the day when our Savior does descend once again from heaven to establish the new creation, to at long last transform this world into our home, to redeem our bodies from the decay of death and the sting of tears (Revelation 21:1-8, Philippians 3:20-21). As happy exiles, we demonstrate to the watching world that our hope is anchored firmly in a foundation that does not shake and falter with every wind of every age. In other words, we invite the citizens of Self-Indulgence and False Worship into this exilic pilgrimage of inexplicable joy.

To be certain, exile brings with it unique pain and heartbreak. We may frequently find ourselves in the wilderness crying out “How long, O Lord?” as we watch the groaning world collapse under the weight of sin’s curse and as we continue to see and hear people act cruelly toward one another. It’s a hard business, waiting for all things to be made right. But even there, planted in the soil of sorrow, these yearnings point like a signpost to the country that will one day be ours. They in themselves quietly and poignantly remind us that the best, truly, is yet to come - that those who sow in tears will reap with shouts of joy and laughter.