Not Home. Come Home.

The beams of a home are meant to hold up the weight of safety, of belonging, of love. But on Good Friday, those beams hold up something else — the body of God, broken for the world.

This is the day that Love does not stay in comfort.
It walks willingly into abandonment.
It takes on the trauma of a bruised and bleeding world.
It hangs on beams — not to condemn, but to carry.

Jesus is not just crucified between two criminals — He is crucified between every outsider who has ever been told they don’t belong. Between every aching heart that has knocked on the door of "Home" and been turned away.

Jesus knows the agony of being “Not Home.” He enters it fully — the betrayal of friends, the collapse of community, the weight of injustice, the silence of heaven. He becomes the one who is despised, rejected.

Good Friday is not just about what Love suffered — it’s about what Love built.

On that cross, Love began laying a new foundation — not of stone, but of mercy. A framework of belonging for the abandoned. A shelter for those who’ve never known the warmth of home. Those beams are strong enough to carry us all.

Today, we look to those who are suffering:

• The abandoned teenager aging out of foster care with no one waiting;

• The mother navigating cheap rent and court dates;

• The person battling addiction, trying again — and again;

• The elder alone in a sterile room no one visits;

• The man behind bars wondering if he can ever begin again;

• The woman trapped in a relationship that erases her worth.

These are not statistics. They are human stories.They are hearts Love died to hold.These are the ones we are called to draw near to, not pity from afar.

This is what Love does:
It finds the outsider.
It shoulders the shame.
It builds a doorway where there was only a wall.