Home Away From Home
by Joon Kang
If you’ve even visited Cornerstone recently, you probably have noticed that the entire middle section of the right side of our sanctuary is pretty much bubbling over with people who look like adults, but you’re not quite sure if they actually are adults. Those would be our wonderful college students.
Now, being the college ministry guy at this church, I (obviously) have a lot of conversations with college students. And I love these conversations. Sometimes, they’re theological. Other times, they’re more like informal counseling sessions.
But, regardless of where we might end up, in almost every conversation, we talk about home. We talk about where we’re from, about our hometowns, about where we grew up. We reminisce about goofy things we did in high school, or how we long to eat at our favorite childhood restaurants. We talk about our rooms, our toys, our siblings, and our friends from elementary, middle, and high school. Some students struggle with homesickness, while others relish in their freedom.
Home is the reason we’ve structured our college ministry to be familial rather than formal (especially with our adopt-a-student program). It’s the reason we make every effort to find rides for students on Sundays. It’s the reason why we don’t want them annexed only to their campuses, but for them to be a vibrant, active part of our church, both on Sundays and throughout the week, so that we can see them, and know them, and love them.
If you’ve talked to me about college ministry at all, you’ve probably heard me say the phrase “home away from home.” I promise it’s not just because I need a catchy slogan, but because I think this represents what the church is—a home away from our forever home.
Because this is the reality for the Christian—we’re citizens of a new, eternal kingdom (Heb 13:14), but we’re many, many miles away from this home, as we’re sent off to earth as ambassadors for our King (2 Cor 5:20), where we long for a “home away from home” (Phil 1:23) —a place where we can find a glimpse of where we’re going, where we can find a taste of where we’re from, where we can find a place to rest before going back to work. And we find that in the church (Acts 2, 4).
The really unique thing about college students—and why I tend to sympathize with their circumstances—is that they are a reflection of this reality. Most of the students I’ve met at UCLA are not from Los Angeles at all, and many of them are hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles away from where they grew up. They’re citizens of Sacramento, or Minneapolis, or Kalamazoo, or Seoul; but they’re all sent off as ambassadors of each of these unique cities and towns to their college campuses, where they long for a home away from home. They long for a place where they can get a glimpse of where they came from, a place where they know they can belong.
If you’re not from Los Angeles, you know this feeling, don’t you? I know this feeling. I remember longing for home when I left for college. I remember longing for home when I graduated from college.
But that’s where this church—this old church—entered my life.
For the last decade, Cornerstone has been my home away from home. It’s the place where I know I belong. It’s the place where I’m free to bring all my stuff—both my physical belongings (as a former tenant of the church house during my time in seminary, I’m still storing my Christmas decorations in the attic!) and my spiritual burdens. Church is the place where I am known, cared for, and loved. It’s where I feel the safest, and it’s where I want to be.
This church is where I got married, where my wife got baptized, where my kids learned to walk. This church is where I go if my daughter wants to practice roller skating, or if I want to practice my golf swing. This church is the view I wake up to every morning, as I draw back our curtains to see the first rays of sunlight silhouetting the belltower. This church is the place I talk about with pride to my neighbors as they ask about what I do for work.
See, this church—this old church—is my home away from home. And it’s through both the people and the bricks that make up this old church, that I am able to see even just a sliver, even just a glimpse, of my forever home in heaven with Christ on his throne.
To the wonderful group of college students that I see every Sunday filling up our pews on Sunday mornings: I want Cornerstone to be your home away from home—a place where you can enjoy a home cooked meal, a place where you can play with my kids, a place where you can study, or play basketball, or hang out. I want to give you access to both our people and our building, so that even though you may be far from home, you can get a taste of it here, and we can venture toward our forever home together.
Now, being the college ministry guy at this church, I (obviously) have a lot of conversations with college students. And I love these conversations. Sometimes, they’re theological. Other times, they’re more like informal counseling sessions.
But, regardless of where we might end up, in almost every conversation, we talk about home. We talk about where we’re from, about our hometowns, about where we grew up. We reminisce about goofy things we did in high school, or how we long to eat at our favorite childhood restaurants. We talk about our rooms, our toys, our siblings, and our friends from elementary, middle, and high school. Some students struggle with homesickness, while others relish in their freedom.
Home is the reason we’ve structured our college ministry to be familial rather than formal (especially with our adopt-a-student program). It’s the reason we make every effort to find rides for students on Sundays. It’s the reason why we don’t want them annexed only to their campuses, but for them to be a vibrant, active part of our church, both on Sundays and throughout the week, so that we can see them, and know them, and love them.
If you’ve talked to me about college ministry at all, you’ve probably heard me say the phrase “home away from home.” I promise it’s not just because I need a catchy slogan, but because I think this represents what the church is—a home away from our forever home.
Because this is the reality for the Christian—we’re citizens of a new, eternal kingdom (Heb 13:14), but we’re many, many miles away from this home, as we’re sent off to earth as ambassadors for our King (2 Cor 5:20), where we long for a “home away from home” (Phil 1:23) —a place where we can find a glimpse of where we’re going, where we can find a taste of where we’re from, where we can find a place to rest before going back to work. And we find that in the church (Acts 2, 4).
The really unique thing about college students—and why I tend to sympathize with their circumstances—is that they are a reflection of this reality. Most of the students I’ve met at UCLA are not from Los Angeles at all, and many of them are hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles away from where they grew up. They’re citizens of Sacramento, or Minneapolis, or Kalamazoo, or Seoul; but they’re all sent off as ambassadors of each of these unique cities and towns to their college campuses, where they long for a home away from home. They long for a place where they can get a glimpse of where they came from, a place where they know they can belong.
If you’re not from Los Angeles, you know this feeling, don’t you? I know this feeling. I remember longing for home when I left for college. I remember longing for home when I graduated from college.
But that’s where this church—this old church—entered my life.
For the last decade, Cornerstone has been my home away from home. It’s the place where I know I belong. It’s the place where I’m free to bring all my stuff—both my physical belongings (as a former tenant of the church house during my time in seminary, I’m still storing my Christmas decorations in the attic!) and my spiritual burdens. Church is the place where I am known, cared for, and loved. It’s where I feel the safest, and it’s where I want to be.
This church is where I got married, where my wife got baptized, where my kids learned to walk. This church is where I go if my daughter wants to practice roller skating, or if I want to practice my golf swing. This church is the view I wake up to every morning, as I draw back our curtains to see the first rays of sunlight silhouetting the belltower. This church is the place I talk about with pride to my neighbors as they ask about what I do for work.
See, this church—this old church—is my home away from home. And it’s through both the people and the bricks that make up this old church, that I am able to see even just a sliver, even just a glimpse, of my forever home in heaven with Christ on his throne.
To the wonderful group of college students that I see every Sunday filling up our pews on Sunday mornings: I want Cornerstone to be your home away from home—a place where you can enjoy a home cooked meal, a place where you can play with my kids, a place where you can study, or play basketball, or hang out. I want to give you access to both our people and our building, so that even though you may be far from home, you can get a taste of it here, and we can venture toward our forever home together.
