they do find their home, they don’t know what they are looking for. The final verse of one of G. K. Chesterton’s Christmas poems goes like this: To an open house in the evening Home shall all men come, To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome. To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless And all men are at home. It is God’s willingness to be homeless to bring us home that we celebrate at Christmas, and that