When Home Feels Far Away
I’ve been in Omaha for less than a year — a new city, a new community, a new rhythm of life. Slowly, it’s starting to feel familiar. But there are still days when I feel unanchored, like a visitor trying to find my place.
That longing for home runs deeper than geography. It’s about belonging — being known, accepted, and safe. And sometimes, even the Church, which should be home, can feel unfamiliar. At times, it even feels hostile — not a refuge, but a place where silence or judgment stings.
That’s why today’s reading from Ephesians doesn’t comfort me. It strikes a painful spot I’ve tried to numb: “You are no longer strangers and sojourners, but members of the household of God.” I want those words to be true. I want to feel at home in that household again. But lately, they touch a wound.
Maybe that’s what faith looks like when we’re honest — not the absence of doubt or hurt, but the willingness to stay open, even while wounded. Simon and Jude, quiet apostles whose names we barely remember, seemed to know that belonging isn’t something we earn or always feel. They belonged because they were called — because Jesus wanted them close. And maybe that’s where my hope rests, too: that even when I don’t feel at home, even in the Church, even in my country, I still belong to the One who calls me by name.
Rev. Jim Caime, SJ
My email link is now correct.
I have lived and worked in thirteen states, as well as in Europe, Latin America, and East Asia, traveling around the world for work. I tend to approach life with a global perspective—yet always with a keen awareness of the local and the individual.
One of the most powerful meditations for me in the Spiritual Exercises is the meditation on the Incarnation, where the Trinity looks upon the world and sees the need to “be made flesh” in our lives. This deeply shapes my understanding of faith and presence.
Math, science, and hard data help us understand our lives and circumstances, but without the arts—poetry, music, and beauty—we would lack the language to express the inexpressible. I am drawn to Ignatian spirituality because it affirms that God is present in all things, always seeking to communicate with us, personally and profoundly.
I am a dreamer, deeply desiring to see the world as God does—with all its possibilities—while never turning away from its pain. And, thankfully, I also have a wicked sense of humor, which helps me (and hopefully others) navigate the world’s darkness with a bit more light.
At the same time, I hold close the wisdom of the prayer attributed to St. Oscar Romero, which reminds us that “we are merely laborers and not the Master Builder.” We are never the be-all and end-all—that is God’s place. This truth keeps me both humble and hopeful. Also, I am a sinner, always in need of God’s love, mercy and grace.
It is a privilege to contribute to this ministry. God’s Word is alive and active, and I hope my reflections offer you meaningful thoughts for your own prayer.
