As A Stranger in A Strange Land

And she bare him a son, and he called his name Gershom: for he said, I have been a stranger in a strange land. (Exodus 2:22)

St. Bene’t’s was the scene of bittersweet joy once more on Sunday morning. It’s a strange thing when this happens in a community. They still mourn the sudden and tragic loss of their young and vibrant vicar, made even more poignant by the celebration at hand. Bishop Steven Conway, Bishop of Ely confirmed four young adults. This was the fruit of Anna’s work (as they still affectionately call her) – and this just a bit of it. Add to that the desire to celebrate a moment of national pride in the coronation of the new king. “Cake and fizz” (sweets and champagne) were to follow the service, which packed the small church. Bishop Steven’s sermon hit all the right notes. Humorous at times, serious about the work of the gospel, challenging for the sake of mission, comforting amid grief – it was all there.

Through the weekend, though, something was building in me. I couldn’t quite name what it was until the very end of the service when, in honor of the king’s coronation, all were invited to stand and sing the national anthem, “God Save the King.” I realized at that moment that I could not sincerely do so. It was not my nation. These were not my people, no matter how welcoming, how warm and inviting they were. I was but a sojourner in their land – a guest but for a time – a wanderer. I stood out of respect. I changed “our” to “your” and was silent when the words could not be easily adjusted.

For the rest of the day, though, I began to feel more deeply what had been building for days – a real sense of loneliness – of being cut off from those whom I love and with whom I share so very much. For the first time in my life, I began to experience just a little bit of what it must feel like to be an exile, or a refugee – to be someone who must exist outside of the culture and often outside of the language that is the touchstone of safety and refuge - this latter reality highlighted in the words of the prayers we share in the liturgy. Mind you, I realize how mild this feeling is compared to what others in more extreme circumstances may feel. I am here safely, welcomed, in a place of affirmation, speaking a language I mostly know (although British slang and metaphors can stump me at times).

This isn’t a cry for help or for someone to assuage my feelings with loads of emails or calls. Rather, it is an acknowledgement of the beginning of a renewed sense of gratitude for what I already have – for that to which I will return. Unlike the countless refugees who wander the world looking never to return to the safety and security of the home others compelled them to leave, I am but for a brief time a stranger in a strange land.