With the early snowfall this week and the season rushing headlong into the holidays, Lorraine has already started playing Christmas music.

It softens the blow of the snow and ice, so I’m grateful. And we really do like all kinds of Christmas music, so extending the season works for us.

But it also forces me to start thinking about the holidays. And I’m working on Thanksgiving and Christmas at church and in other charity work, so it’s ever-present.

On top of all that, this year I’ve been mindful of those who aren’t able to be with family or “at home” for either holiday.

Maybe it’s because of a broken relationship. Separation or divorce can forever change holiday memories and traditions, not to mention where you go and what you do or who you celebrate with.

Or family who have moved an older member away from her home and church to a sensible and closer place where care is readily available.

Maybe there is a health challenge that keeps someone from celebrating Thanksgiving or Christmas they way they’re used to. Part of my memories associated with Thanksgiving and Christmas are of people I’ve loved who have died around the holidays. Not to be morbid, but that’s part of it, too.

Maybe it’s because of living across the world from family and home. I know of people in our church who have left their entire families on the other side of the world. There’s no visiting them. It’s far away; family celebrations are a thing of the past. Your parents can’t see their grandchildren. Your children can’t see the aunt or uncle you love, not to mention your parents. Geography, politics, money all get in the way.

So many hurts, so much pain.

And on top of all that, there’s Jesus.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” (Luke 9:57-58)

Wait. Did Jesus really say that?

I mean, of course, he did. Does that mean he had no home? No rest for the weary? That seems messed up. Like a king being born next to a donkey.

Or maybe he wasn’t weary. But he was fully human. So he got tired. Sometimes I can’t help but think of how tired he must have gotten with the teaching and the miracles and the half-understanding followers and the Pharisees out to get him.

Maybe heaven was the home he missed, which makes the other side of the world seem, well, a little bit closer, at least, on the same planet.

And in our crazy-busy rush to carve out a more measured and Aristotelian sort of life, what does that mean for those of us who follow him?

I don’t have the answer, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be one hundred percent sure of it. We focus so much of our energies and our hearts on home and family. These are such blessings, how can we not? And we get busy with life—so often that means not being able to give ourselves more fully to church itself.

But Jesus had his own perspective. "And a crowd was sitting around him, and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers are outside, seeking you.”And he answered them, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking about at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of God, he is my brother and sister and mother.” (Mark 3:32-35)

Then there's Jesus' payment for our sins, not only for his "people," but also for those who were far off and hostile, not close to the family tree. He drank the cup and took God’s wrath on himself. We don’t follow him in that. He is our substitute. It’s all on him. That’s the point. And even if we wanted to, it would be wrong for us to step in and try.

Let’s bask in this Thanksgiving table.

The fullness of Christ means that we’ll always have family. This Father will never let us down because the Son on the cross was lifted up. And we want to please him, but we don’t have to be perfect—we can’t be, really, so the Holy Spirit is right there next to me as I write and you as you read. And there is help and hope for us to please the Father.

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16)

How can we not tell others?

Honestly, it’s easy not to.

It’s easy to be like everybody else. In some ways, we want to be sheep without a shepherd and trade what Jesus has for an earthly family and home and that's it. But we’re trading down when we do that.

Where can we shine light today? Let’s go for it. Let’s risk shining light and discover a different kind of family and a tender pull toward a new home that’s not ours at all, but one where there is always light, and fullness and life. It’s a place where the Shepherd rules and loves perfectly. Let’s live the here and now with an eye to that place where my friends Joe and Mary Lou and Ken and Margaret and Nathan and Peter and Marge and Pauline and Wes and Carole and Nita and Don and Flo are, knowing home and family like never before.