Since my last Sunday at St. Mary’s, I’ve worshipped four times at New Hope Church in Bend, Oregon, once at the home of dear friends as we blessed their home, a Eucharist at Camp Allen with new clergy, Evening Prayer at Camp Allen with nearly clergy, Eucharist with the Junior Daughters of the King beside the lake at Camp Allen, at St. Helena Convent, Facebook Live Episcopal Worship to Anchor Your Day, in the Agnes Martin Gallery at the Harwood Museum, Morning Mindfulness at the Georgia Museum of Art, and ever so many times from my prayer chair.

Not once in an Episcopal Church.

Except from my prayer chair, all of these were within community. All were full of grace in their own way, and I believe that I was led by the Spirit to each of these holy places to worship God.

As God is teaching me about home, God is also teaching me about church.

One of my favorite descriptions of church is from the second chapter of the book of Acts:

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. …..

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.

Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.

No longer a layperson who has “joined” a parish, no longer a priest called to serve in a specific parish, now serving in missions and parishes, as invited or sent, I am a peripatetic priest.

Today, as I celebrate twenty-six years of ordination to the priesthood, God is inviting me to reflect on my definition of Church.

From Saddle Blanket by Blanche C. Grant, The Harwood Museum

Church is God’s people gathered, and Jesus gives us an easy bar:

Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am in their midst. (Matthew 18.20)

If my home is in God’s heart, and God’s home is in my heart, then perhaps church is when two or three of us gather in the heart of God, and when we know that God is in our gathered hearts.

From Husking Corn by Mary Blumenschein, The Harwood Museum

Walter Ufer’s Winter in New Mexico, Harwood Museum

For the past three years, I have been pushed, not always gently, into learning what home means.

Nearly three years ago, rising waters pushed me from my house of nearly twenty years into guest bed rooms and then into a parishioner’s vacant house. I returned to my newly rebuilt house until even higher rising waters floated me into other guest bedrooms and another rental property. I rebuilt the house again and planned to stay there awhile. Until a new call from God sent me looking for another house closer into town

I’ve been looking for that next house for two months. I put a bid on one place that seemed perfect, but I was outbid. I put a bid on another house and had to withdraw that bid because of too many issues revealed during the inspection.

I’ve spent a lot of time these past two months thinking about the next place I’ll live. Lots of conversation with others and myself, and, oh yes, God.

Before I left Oregon Christmas, departing a day early because I was still searching for my next living space, my grandson, Austin, prayed a beautiful prayer for me. I usually don’t remember the specifics of most prayers, but in this prayer Austin ended asking that God would give me wisdom, especially as I looked for my new home.

As I’ve asked God for guidance, I’ve thought about Austin’s request for wisdom.

I think I have an answer: In my searching and frustration and longing and ever hoping, I’ve finally realized: I have a home. Always. I may not know where my next house will be, but wherever I am, that is my home.

Home is where we are. Whether we like it or not. Whether we want to be there or not. Whether or not we long for another type of home are not. Home is the place we are standing or sitting now.

When I was in my first post-flood rental, the Spirit gave me a verse to repeat during Centering Prayer:

My heart is your home.

I understand this prayer in two ways:

God’s home is in my heart.

My home is in God’s heart.

I always have a home. All of us do. It is in the heart of God, and it is God dwelling within our hearts.

I’m still looking for that next house, but meanwhile, in the Casa de las Abuelas here in Taos, I am home.

I’m working this month. Some.

I am now officially on the Diocese of Texas payroll, and they have graciously given me some time to transition. It’s a time for me to find a new home–physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

I’m spending the month reading in preparation for my new call, taking my annual Epiphany retreat in New Mexico, and doing ministry with the curates and the Iona School for Ministry.

And being the chaplain for the Diocese of Texas Junior Daughters of the King annual retreat. I realized last summer on the mission trip to the Dominican Republic how much I love chaplain ministry, and add serving children and youth, and I am over the moon.

On the Junior DOK retreat last weekend, with. the awesome music leader, Lee, I led worship in the morning, noonday, and at the close of day. I celebrated a very cold Holy Eucharist by the lake. I led the labyrinth prayer station. I hung out with wonderful girls and women.

We used plastic coffee cups and a plastic tray from the campsite for the paten and chalice.

Two Junior Daughters of the King served as Eucharistic Ministers.

There was time to talk and listen and laugh and be. With women and girls by the lake, it was community. It is something that I’m learning how to do now that my ministry is no longer in the parish.

As I reimagine Home–in body, mind and Spirit.

In years past, it’s made my heart sad to not have family around at Christmas. When I knew that I would have this time of Sabbath before beginning my new job, at the top of my list was to be with my grandboys at Christmas. It has been beyond wonderful.

Worship was lovely on Christmas Eve, and it was wonderful going to bed at a sensible hour snuggled with a grandson. However, I have been blindsighted by how I have felt not having a church family near.

I missed walking into the empty nave before worship began and feeling the fullness of a silent night. I missed my face aching at the end of Christmas Eve from smiling and greeting endlessly friends old and new. I even missed awakening with a Christmas morning worship hangover, and then driving to lead one more service and being greeted by holy quiet and the smell of incense in the nave.

What I’ve found myself missing the most was the accountability of being part of a faith community. It has been a challenge to keep the rhythm of offices and holy days.

In retrospect, I realized how much I need those faith relationships to keep myself centered in spiritual practices.

For example, it has been the custom of St. Mary’s to read the Gospel appointed for the coming year aloud in community in its entirety on an evening early in Advent. I committed to do this on my own this year but never made it through the whole of Luke. I need the encouragement of others to do what I know it is best for me to do.

Yesterday was my last day to be paid by St. Mary’s. Today I am officially Missioner of Congregational Vitality and an employee of the Diocese of Texas.

I ended my Christmas trip one day early in order to spend tomorrow looking for my new house. I’ll be working the rest of the week and needed to take advantage of the free day.

As important as it is for me to find a home with an address, this past month has shown me how important it is for me to find a home with a church community. As much as I crave my personal spiritual practices, this past month has clearly shown me how that is not enough for my relationship with Christ.

Good to know.