Once, on a beach in rural Dumfrieshire, I saw a man taking a crate of homing pigeons from the boot of his car. Then he opened the crate and released the pigeons – there was an immense trembling of the air as the wings of the birds thrashed frantically, rising up above my head.
However, instead of heading directly for home – Whithorn or Wigtown or wherever was home, they proceeded to fly in circles above, round and round. Now to me this seemed a bit silly and a waste of time. But apparently what the pigeons were doing was finding their bearings. Once they had found their bearings they’d set off for home.
This homing instinct which many birds possess is a miraculous thing. With some it seems to be an in-built thing; but for others, like pigeons, they have to be trained. But once they have been trained they can make it through the fog and storms and weather to get back home.
We’ve got a homing instinct, too. God, who made us for himself, has not left us rudderless. He has put a homing instinct in us. Now it’s a very subtle and fragile thing, because God will never force us to do anything. It takes the form of an inner restlessness and discontent, a longing. Have you felt it? Another word for this longing is faith.
Just as the homing instinct doesn't save the birds from having to struggle against the wind and the rain, so faith doesn't shield us from the hard knocks of life and death. But what it does is it gives us bearings. It enables us to live in a locked down world without getting lost or giving in to despair. It reminds us that we have a home to go to, and it points us in the right direction.
During the Last Supper, when Jesus told the apostles that he was leaving them, they were incredibly distressed. But then he said these words, which are among the loveliest words in the Gospels: 'There are many rooms in my Father's house. I am going to prepare a place for you. I shall return to take you with me; so that where I am you may he too.'
Jesus says to us, right here and now, that we have an eternal home to go to. Not – what do they say – ‘pie in the sky when you die – no, this isn’t make believe. This is something built into the very fabric of being human – our homing instinct. But you still have to ask how do we get there.
Now, imagine you’re stranger and you arrive in Ashbourne one Saturday morning, asking for the nearest, I don’t know, vets. So someone says, 'Go straight down, past Nigels, until you come a set of traffic lights. Turn right at the lights, go past the old corset factory – you know, the one that was knocked down 40 years ago, go by the railway station that isn’t there anymore, over the first roundabout, then the second and you can’t miss it’. Sometimes the instructions are so complicated that you wish you never asked. But you may be fortunate enough to meet a kind person who says to you, 'Look, it's a bit difficult to explain. Follow me - I'll show you the way.'
The way to God has confused and baffled many. Some have got hopelessly lost, others have given up the search. When Thomas asked Jesus, 'Show us the Father,' Jesus didn't give him a lot of complicated directions. Instead he said, 'I am the Way.' 'Follow me, I'll show you the way.'
Today, although we may be separated and locked down, we have the Spirit who guides and encourages us, and we have brothers and sisters who will travel with us. We can’t get lost.
A woman was returning to Ireland with her husband after spending three years in Australia. On reaching England she phoned her mother in Dublin, who had volunteered to meet her at the boat terminal in Dun Laoghaire. She said to her mother, 'You'll easily recognise me. I'll be wearing a bright red coat.' When she heard this her mother said, 'Don't be silly. Do you really think I won't recognise my own daughter.'
We are God's precious daughters and sons. Don't you think God will recognise us when we return home to him at the end of life's journey?