Towards the beginning of harvest three of the thirty chiefs went down to join David at the cave of Adullam, while a band of Philistines was encamped in the valley of Rephaim. David was then in the stronghold; and the garrison of the Philistines was then at Bethlehem. David said longingly, ‘O that someone would give me water to drink from the well of Bethlehem that is by the gate!’ Then the three warriors broke through the camp of the Philistines, drew water from the well of Bethlehem that was by the gate, and brought it to David. But he would not drink of it; he poured it out to the Lord, for he said, ‘The Lord forbid that I should do this. Can I drink the blood of the men who went at the risk of their lives?’ Therefore he would not drink it. The three warriors did these things.
-- 2 Sam 23:13-17
There's something about going home, sometimes depending on circumstances. Still, there always seem to be one or two things that just announce, "You're home!", whether it's the sight of a forest with almost every shade of green God ever thought of, the sound of waves lapping on a shore, the smell of salt air or the distant sound of a church bell. No matter how long I've been away, something always pops up to remind me that this was, and, in a way still is, home.
David must have had sort of the same kind of reaction when he found himself near his home town, Bethlehem. He remembered the well next to the gate and even remembered the taste of the water. It called to him to remember that this was home, this was familiar, this was what was. Three young men, hearing his longing for a taste of that familiar water once again, went through the enemy lines and secured water for their king. When they gave it to him, though, he paused and then, without tasting a drop that not long ago would have been irresistible, he poured it out on the ground. He equated it with drinking the blood of a sacrifice which, according to the laws of God, was unthinkable. Sacrificial meat could be eaten, but blood was the life source and thus was sacrosanct. It was for non-Israelites and idol-worshippers to drink the blood of sacrifices, not for the people of God. Had the young men perished in their errand, the cup would have contained their blood, not well water. It must have been hard for David to do, but it was the right thing.
When I go home, I always see things that are different. New roads, new streets, new clusters of houses and apartments, new buildings, things built in what used to be empty fields, familiar things gone, and loved ones and friends that I must now visit in the cemeteries instead of in their kitchens. I always visit my river, a body of salt water that has been flowing past my town for who knows how many thousands of years. It has seen far more changes than I have and has been changed itself from time to time by the hands of man and nature. Still, it is a familiar place, one where I walked, sat, thought and also found God present whenever I went there. The scent of the salt water, the lap of the waves, the feel of the soft sand turning harder as I walk barefoot toward the tide line -- it all means "home".
I think David and I would both find the same things if we went home again; we'd traveled too far and been gone too long to ever find the same place we left years before. There would still be familiar things but the changes would have been too great for it ever to be the same as it was.
Thomas Wolfe said "You can't go home again," and he's right. You can visit but you can never be a part of the place like you were when it really and truly was "home." I can live with memories that paint it as a certain place, but that place is now only in my memory. There are those who will paint a picture of what heaven will be like and long to "go home" to a place they've never been but have formed its image in their minds. Very possibly the image they have will be as accurate as the home I remembered from my youth, but only time will tell that.
Still, home is where the heart is, as the old saying goes, whether it's the as-it-was or the as-it-will-be
I am just goin' over Jordan/ I am just goin' over home. - Old Spiritual
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