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On this tempestuous Friday, so different from the Belmont Abbey Homecoming we’d planned, it nevertheless seems appropriate to take a moment to think about what it means to be at home, to return home after a long time away, or even to long for it from afar. As human beings we might find ourselves “at home” in a specific place or within a particular community, even as we travel toward that ultimate home of “many rooms” where Our Father prepares a place for us.

Different languages and cultures, of course, evoke home and homecoming in different forms, but all seem to share the significance of belonging, either enjoyed or desired. The Welsh, for example, have the lovely word, “hiraeth,” which has no direct equivalent in English but blends a longing homesickness with the warmth of nostalgia. There’s a yearning as you speak the word, a keenness and a lengthened aspiration that evokes the wistful memory of that deep, savoring breath you take on arriving home at last. It reminds me, in a word, that home is also a site of longing for the true rest and belonging we find in God: the beautiful now and not-yet of our pilgrim lives.

And speaking of journeys, the Ancient Greeks explore “nostos,” the hero’s homecoming, over and over again in myth and literature. The most famous instance is probably Odysseus in Homer’s Odyssey – weeping for Ithaca even on Calypso’s island paradise – but the Greeks often turned their attention to heroes pressing on toward home despite overwhelming obstacles. These obstacles challenge and affirm the hero’s human identity with a people and a place, even as he pours his superhuman effort (and godlike prowess) into reaching them once more. In a way, these stories place the human and divine in tension with each other within a single man, not only asking who are we?�����Ի���where do we belong?, but also uniting these questions, so that neither can be answered in isolation.

But it isn’t just the journey home, or what it means for mortal man, that fascinates the Greeks. “Xenia” was a related value, involving an ethic of hospitality. When we think of hospitality today, we might recall the Benedictine hallmark: its ready generosity to share a meal, open a door, offer a home. In Greek myth, however, hospitality was an important means of deflecting that double-edged sword of the gods’ attention. Certainly it offered critical refuge to travelers in a dangerous and unforgiving world, but as a host, you also never knew when you might be entertaining – or turning away – a god in disguise. Not only, then, was home a site of the familiar – of one’s deep, human identity – but it also became a place where mystery or the divine might well visit unannounced.

From this wandering reflection, I can’t help but return to our beloved monastic community at Belmont Abbey. Of course, Benedictine monks don’t welcome the wandering stranger out of fear. The prospect of being transformed into unflattering shapes or otherwise punished by vindictive deities doesn’t feature in their motivations the way it did for the Greeks of myth… But in a deeper way, the monks do extend their generous welcome, not only to all of us: students, faculty, staff, alumni, and friends, but also to Christ, Himself, who feeds us with His presence and makes His home in our souls. God dwells with us, far beyond what the Ancient Greeks believed possible. And by sharing our earthly home, He invites us, in turn, to that life in Him which alone can satisfy our marveling “hiraeth.”

Whether or not you are an alumnus, and whether or not Hurricane Ian has prevented you from traveling this weekend, I hope you’ll have a chance someday soon to come and walk the ���������� grounds. Step into the cool quiet of the basilica or tree-lined avenue of Abbey Lane. Wherever we roam, the Abbey invites us to cultivate, as pilgrim people, the peace of our true home, while rejoicing in this earthly echo of beatitude to come. Come join us. You are always welcome.