Walking down Main Street in Disney World is an interesting phenomenon. The quaint old street feels like every hometown I’ve ever dreamed about in my “place to call home” daydreams. Designed by masters at evoking emotion, Main Street is supposed to make you long to belong. And looking around at the other “residents” of Main Street, they seem to be at home. The laugh and talk and eat their ice cream cones. And somehow, I often feel like an impostor. I know I don’t really belong on Main Street. I don’t live here. I’m an alien, a stranger, in the midst of all the others.
It’s a lie, though, isn’t it? No one really lives on Main Street. It’s a facade to make us long for connection. I’m an alien, a stranger…yes. But so is everyone else.
I felt the same way in “my” coffee shop the other day, too. As I was sitting there I was watching everyone else, thinking about how some of them are regulars. I see one particularly lady — who I’ve learned is currently homeless when it comes to having an office to work out of — sitting in her same corner every day. I’ve mentioned the Rabbi before, too, counseling day after day. There are so many regulars in this Starbucks, I thought. I don’t know if I fit in here. Then I realized that to someone else, i was a regular too, even if I felt like a visitor myself.
I wonder if that isn’t what the Bible means when it talks about us being aliens and strangers in this land? Do you suppose that we all have that vague feeling that we don’t REALLY belong here? I think we’re perhaps hardwired for eternity, and the absolute knowing that we belong.
It’s also good to remember that the regular sitting next to you may be feeling like a stranger, too.
