You’ve been looking, haven’t you? Searching from one room to another, from one address to the next, carrying with you the hope that a new set of walls might somehow hold the happiness your heart aches for. It’s an old, old hunt, and you’re weary with the length of the way. But listen to me for a moment: the thing you’re truly seeking cannot be found on any street, in any city, with any key in your hand. Do not mistake the gilded frame for the portrait, our true home, our true happiness, is not a place but a Person.
I know how the world cries out, “Who will show us any good?”, and it always looks for something it can see and handle, a tangible thing to rest its weight upon. A new roof, a brighter window, a kinder neighbor, these are sweet mercies, and God often gives them. But if we set them up as our portion, they turn to dust before we’ve even finished sweeping the floor. The roses of this world grow on thorns, and its honeycombs, when cracked open, leave nothing but a sting. No, my dear hearer, there is a better good, an enduring substance that makes any cottage a palace and any wilderness a garden. It is the smile of God in Christ Jesus.
Have you ever considered what it means that your sins are forgiven you? I do not ask whether you have a pleasant situation or an easy circumstance, I ask whether the great Judge of all the earth has cast your iniquities behind His back. Because if He has, then you possess a happiness no landlord can rent away, no change of fortune can evict. Pardon of sin is the King’s own seal of His love; it is the unfading title deed to an inheritance that cannot rot. A man may live in a garret with that assurance and find his heart lighter than the richest man on the broadest estate who lacks it. The life of your hand, that hand-to-mouth existence of worldly comfort, will never be enough. But the life of Christ in your soul becomes a well of water springing up into everlasting life.
Cheer up, then, poor seeking heart. I do not chide you for wanting a place of your own, for the desire is woven into the fabric of our earthly need. Our Lord Himself, who had nowhere to lay His head, knows the pangs of a pilgrim’s life, and He is tender to your request. Bring it to Him, by all means, spread the floorplans of your heart before His mercy seat. But as you ask for a new address, ask for fresh oil upon your soul, for that anointing of His Spirit which alone makes any dwelling a home. Let your great cry be, “Lord, You are my dwelling place in all generations.” When you come into that new room, whether it be soon or later, let the first song on your lips be not “I am happy” but “My Beloved is mine, and I am His.”
God can give you a place of such peace that the very walls seem to whisper His promises. But even if He should delay, or give you something humbler than your dream, you have a word to lean upon: “Happy are you, O Israel, a people saved by the Lord.” That is happiness which deepens when everything else is stripped away, a joy forged on Calvary and sealed by an empty tomb.
Now, let us bow together.
O Lord and Father, You know this dear soul’s weariness and longing. You have counted their tossings, You have charted their wanderings, and You hold the key to every door that opens in this world. Provide, in Your wise love, a home where they may know safety and rest, a little corner of Your great earth where they can taste the kindness of Your providence. But above all, settle their heart in Jesus, that whether they have much or little, palace or poorhouse, they may find all their springs in Him. Anoint them with fresh oil; restore their soul with the wine of Your consolations; and grant them the unshakable happiness of a sinner saved by grace. In the name of Christ Jesus, our risen Home and eternal Hope. Amen.