Earlier this week, I was blessed with an invitation to visit a dear friend on the coast of Massachusetts. It was a quick 24-hour trip, but filled with conversation, laughter, and the kind of renewal only friendship and the sea can bring.
When I arrived, my friend and his sons were still out on the ocean after a morning of deep-sea fishing. When word came that they were headed back, his wife and I went down to the dock to meet them. We stood looking to the horizon. “There’s their boat,” we thought as a tiny speck appeared in the distance. We watched it draw closer and closer until finally, it tied up to the mooring. The crew climbed into the dinghy and made their way to shore.
On the surface, nothing about it seems particularly extraordinary. But as I reflected, I realized how often we stand on the dock—whatever our “dock” may be—waiting for someone to come home. Maybe from an exciting adventure or a season of challenge. With our eyes fixed into the distance, we see a faint outline, a small figure, and we ask ourselves, Could it be? Is it them? And when we finally know for sure, our hearts race, joy fills our souls, and we breathe a prayer of gratitude: They’re home. They’re safe. Thank God.
And maybe, just maybe, it was the same for my friend and his sons. At some point, they must have looked toward the shore, wondering, Can you see the house yet? Will someone be there waiting for us? After hours of waves and wind, they were ready to return—to share their stories of fishing and laughter, of salt air and adventure—with the people who loved them.
There is something sacred about coming home. And there is something equally sacred about welcoming others home.
That’s why this year, instead of calling September 7 “Kickoff Sunday,” we are going to call it Homecoming Sunday. It will be our chance to gather again after the adventures of summer and the journeys of life, to welcome one another back to the home we call Trinity Church. A place of grace, love, and encouragement. A place where we return again and again to be reminded of God’s presence and each other’s care.
So, dear ones, whether you find yourself standing on the dock waiting for someone to come home, or whether you are the one returning after a long journey—it’s always good to come home.
Peace and Blessings,
Paul+