An old saying tells us “you can never go home again,” and some of us don’t
want to. There was a reason why we left, and never looked back, except to see
how things are going in the old neighborhood. We look back, but don’t want to
go back, there is a difference. Talking with my Mother last weekend, she still
lives in the house they bought in 1959 and I grew up in. He neighbor, Mabel,
passed away at 97, leaving her the only person left in the neighborhood I grew
up in. No more Coleman’s down the street, no Nering’s, Aldinger’s, or Del
Nero’s. All names and families of my past, gone. The houses are still there,
but those who inhabited them are long gone. The new neighbors never knowing of
all the kickball games played in the streets, the hide and seek games at
Scottie’s, of sleeping out in Joey’s back yard, or building snow forts. Mention
“Frank is bald” and you get blank stares, Bruce and Barry and who are they? Try
to explain to them how we used to play in the woods where their house now
stands, or how New York Avenue wasn’t paved until 1970. We used to walk over
the viaduct to Crestwood Cubbard for candy, or The Sweet Shop for MAD
magazines. Walking the half mile, or riding our bikes. No more Snuffy Jr.’s
for a burger, kids don’t walk to school any more, and we can remember a
pre-McGinn school woods, the Land of the Jinks we used to call it, where it was
all sticker bushes and no one escaped unscathed. Tell of sleigh riding down
hills in the woods, now a neighborhood, and tree forts where trees used to
stand. Some feigning interest, some just don’t care, some too busy with life.
My Mother the last remaining neighbor in my old neighborhood at 2212 Algonquin
Drive......and how it all has changed.
But just a generation before my parents, their lot was woods also. The
house next door didn’t exist, it was a repair shop for heavy equipment, with a
block and tackle, and a concrete slab. Their house was the newest on our end of
the street, with only a few homes built in the early 1950’s. Algonquin Village,
across Hetfield didn’t exist yet, bringing real suburbia to Scotch Plains, with
cobblestone curbs, and a planned neighborhood, unheard of just a few years
before. Sewers, a big thing, street lights, but yet no sidewalks, the streets
were still safe to walk on. Gravel covered many of the roads, kids stayed out
after dark to play, and no one locked their doors or had to. They knew the
police by name, didn’t have so many cars they had to park on the street, and
knew each other. Halloween night we all came home late with our pillow cases
full with candy, the same 5 cent bars we used to buy, now free. We shoveled
snow for our neighbors, raked their leaves, and everyone waved to each other.
Looking back, it scares me to look ahead. Maybe it is true you can never go
home again, and if you did, the same home will not be there. But you will have
changed too.
Imagine a young Jesus growing up. Joe and Mary’s kid, just another kid in
just another neighborhood. Then at age 30, after working with his Dad as a
finishing carpenter, goes into ministry his heavenly father ordained for him.
What did the old neighbors think when they heard of his exploits? “Jesus, isn’t
that Joe and Mary’s kid? Did some work for me once, pretty good carpenter. But
what is this religion thing he is into?” And they would talk of how they
remembered him. Scripture tells us how a prophet is not recognized in his own
town, too many knew him when, not as he was now. A trip through his old
neighborhood would reveal many things, I am sure his take on his neighborhood
much different then as compared to now. They would claim he changed, but it is
really us who need to, and it is him who changes us. Picture his high school
reunion of ten years, “what are you doing Jesus?” Working with hid Dad, but
just five years later, “What are you doing Jesus?” would bring the same, but a
different answer, “working with my Father.” Going about God’s business, he was
now ready for ministry, age 30, the age to be a Jewish priest, and all without
seminary. That had to upset his old neighborhood, maybe raise a few eyebrows
here and there. How would you remember Jesus, or is he new to your
neighborhood? Have you changed,and has he changed you?
Many Christians are tourists each year to Israel to see where he walked.
Visiting the Bible references, seeing his tomb. But how many are more concerned
about where he walked more than your walk with him? Do you walk with Jesus, or
is he a photo op on a vacation? When Jesus left earth, he was resurrected,
returning home to heaven, his old neighborhood. How did it change? Maybe by
all those who believe in him being there now. A new neighborhood springing up
in heaven, where those who are forgiven live and rejoice. You see, in Jesus we
can all go home again, we can go back to a pre-sin time where all was perfect in
the world, and Adam and Eve walked with God. A place where everyone knows your
name, and all worship the same God. Where we all know Jesus, no matter what
generation you are from, or when you got there. The people in heaven will
change, but we will already be changed in Jesus. He promises us “on earth as it
is in heaven,” do we desire heaven on earth like he promises? Or is it back to
the same old neighborhood, where nobody knows your name.
No one would know me back where I grew up, I have changed. Not the same
old kid, a different kid, a child of God. But my memories still intact of how
it was and who I was. Sadly my Mother is house bound, and the new neighbors
will never know her. Never see the meticulous yard my Dad had, or the stream of
my friends coming and going. It is the house with an old woman who they never
see, and wonder about. Until some day she too will be gone, and no one will
remember. 2212 will be remembered much different than I do, I only hope the new
inhabitants have such a great time there. The past is a fine place to visit,
but in Christ I have a great future, a great right now. Take a trip back in
Jesus today, to that first time you met him, rekindle old memories. Let him
remind you of how far he has taken you, and how much farther we have to go.
Houses aren’t homes until someone moves in, we aren’t Christians until Jesus
moves into our lives. Home is where the heart is, I am glad I gave my heart to
Jesus. My address will change, but he never will. Somehow the old neighborhood
will never look the same....
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com
