Set in World War II, the Protagonists from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe – Peter, Edmund, Susan, and Lucy, also known as the Pevensie siblings, wandered into the magical land of Narnia. Narnia is unlike the industrious London where they were from, it was spacious where animals can speak. In the story, Santa Claus, aka Father Christmas, literally showed up and gave them gifts as they were on their journey to find Aslan. Aslan the Lion was the God and the hero of the story who came, fixed everything, and defeated the big bad: the White Witch.
But at the end of the story, the now grown-up Pevensies also wandered towards the house where they first discovered Narnia.
I hated the ending – because to me that means Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy were back in England where they have to live an ordinary life and relearn how to live in their first home while carrying the memory they had in Narnia.
My Narnia was a house called the Home. In Bellingham, Washington.
Yes, this may not be the most creative name, but what is more creative is that we found a way to put fifteen guys in a house with two bathrooms and one kitchen.
Brady, our landlord, was a hippie turned pastor during the Jesus movement in the 70s. He was a freshman when he first moved into the Home; he planned to change the world by being an educator, but instead, Jesus changed his life when his housemate invited him to follow Jesus.
The same house became a ministry house, and home for the guys of the campus ministry that I was part of, for more than forty years. He was a wise grandfather that spoiled us by charging us crazily cheap rent. He was my Father Christmas.
And my housemates:
Eishu was the pastor’s kid from Japan, who prayed for his people to come to know God more than anyone else.
Kyle was the theater guy who mastered every accent but was so horrible at cooking.
Muk was the skater who also thought he could worship Jesus by being in the hot tub.
Sam was the bad boy of the house, and a part-time actor and model, but secretly was a nerd.
Will was the real nerd and was also a martial arts aficionado.
Gabriel the homeschool guy, who at one point went on a two-month pilgrimage from Paris to Spain.
But we all have one thing in common; we loved Jesus, and we were put together in the same house. Psalm 133 was framed and hung in the living room. It says: “How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity.”
This place taught me more than just being part of the community, but actually doing community. It was not easy, but it was good. It taught me I cannot really pursue faith and follow Jesus all by myself.
This place taught me more than just being part of the community, but actually doing community. It was not easy, but it was good. It taught me I cannot really pursue faith and follow Jesus all by myself.
Because it is a home, we have traditions and rituals:
Five evenings a week we ate at the same table, we took turns cooking and we took turns doing the dishes. The dinner conversations were chaotic and exuberant.
No matter how heated the argument we had in a house meeting, we ended it every time by singing the doxology together.
We grieved and we celebrated together. We were not afraid to share every topic on our minds with each other: Whether a hidden sin or a brother’s overdose.
This was also a place where we invited people into our house and dined with us, including those without a home, whether physically, emotionally, or, spiritually.
One of my favorite places in the world is the fireplace at the Home. My idea of home was engraved by the smell of the fireplace with the smell of hot chocolates and caroling during the Christmas season.
It was my home for three years, and for someone who is an only child and moved houses seven times before I moved to the U.S., it did provide me with a sense of stability. The guys that I lived with were my second family.
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It has now been three years since I left the Home. When I first came back to Hong Kong, a place that I also called home, I was shocked and surprised by all the things that were going on in this city. My first Christmas in Hong Kong was etched by another kind of smell of fire and smoke.
It was a strange experience feeling isolated, displaced, and confused in your home. It was a time when churches, communities, and families were fractured to the point that reconciliation seemed impossible.
It was a time I yearned to leave this place more than anything. But with all the circumstances – the pandemic, my own family, and waiting for a visa, leaving was not an option. I was bound to call this place my home.
Physically I’m at home, but if I was honest, my heart was not.
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But slowly and gradually, in the past three years, I realized God is always present in all of my searching and wrestling.
Instead of lingering on the home I used to have and imagining the home I want in the future (which sometimes literally means to stop researching my dream house on Pinterest or Youtube), I needed to stay in the present now.
Because if a home is where Christ is dwelling, then I need to attune to His voice, and actually believe He is here with me. Even when my heart is far away.
Because if a home is where Christ is dwelling, then I need to attune to His voice, and actually believe He is here with me. Even when my heart is far away.
It was when the idea of a better home is somewhere else, the idea of a better community in the future has died, that I then feel most grounded and rooted. I have to remind myself I can no longer live in the past while appreciating life in the present is a gift.
But I could not do it on my own. My struggle of not feeling at home was internal, but I needed external help.
It was through communities that God put my heart back together, piece by piece. Communities that picked me up and sang for me even when I did not have the courage. I needed a home that would say my prayer and speak out my feelings when I did not have the words for them.
It was praying and listening in communities that disarmed my guard and communities where I could let my soul be nurtured and healed, which really requires vulnerability, and it was uncomfortable for me at first. When I leaned into being known, I found a home with God and with others. I found a home when I made space to worship, to laugh, to have fellowship, to share a table, and to receive from people who think and feel differently than I am.
When I leaned into being known, I found a home with God and with others. I found a home when I made space to worship, to laugh, to have fellowship, to share a table, and to receive from people who think and feel differently than I am.
It was until I started listening to the stories of those in my communities, stories of family struggles, stories of losing a loved one, stories of trusting God in the uncertainty of work and relationships. And stories of not feeling at home.
Week after week, month after month, I learned what God was doing in the lives of those whom He intentionally brought together.
It was when I had this shared experience of how my story intersects with their stories, I felt less alone, and I felt a little bit more strength to stay longer in communities. And it took a long time.
I needed to stay and be still so God could work and transform me to be the person He created me to be and to recreate the home in my heart. A surgeon cannot really do much when the patient is not willing to lie down. And I was that patient.
I needed to stay and be still so God could work and transform me to be the person He created me to be and to recreate the home in my heart. A surgeon cannot really do much when the patient is not willing to lie down. And I was that patient.
It was staying present in the community that rid of my nostalgia for my old home.
I still treasure my friendships in the past but I have learned how to move on.
I was convicted that God’s heart is broken for those who do not have a home and those who are hungry for friendships and relationships, whether here in Hong Kong, or anywhere else in the world.
It was God who expanded my own heart to be invitational and to make space where people can be known by God and be known by others.
We might all have our memories of Narnia, but are we willing to stay and make space where people can be loved and known? Like a good story, it takes time to unfold the context and the interaction between the characters.
The enjoyment of a good story does not come in chapter one, but in the final chapter, and through the entire process of reading.
We have a God who promised, “when two or three are gathered, there He is,” (Matthew 18.20) and He is unceasingly searching for us and calling us back home.