We have but one permanent home: heaven - that's still the old

“We have but one permanent home: heaven — that’s still the old truth that we always have to re-learn — and it’s only through the impact of sad experiences that we assimilate it.” Thus spoke Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, the mystic priest and scientist whose vision stretched beyond the stars. In these words he reminds us that though we walk upon the earth, our roots are not here. We are pilgrims, travelers through dust and time, and our hearts will never find perfect rest in the shifting sands of the world. The soul hungers for something eternal, and no matter how deeply it drinks of earthly joys, it will thirst again — until it remembers its true home: heaven.

Teilhard’s life itself was a living parable of this truth. A Jesuit priest exiled from his homeland, he wandered across continents, studying fossils, rocks, and the bones of forgotten worlds. Yet beneath the scientist’s discipline beat the heart of a lover of God. He saw in every fragment of creation a reflection of the divine order, and in every loss, a summons toward eternity. The sorrows of his exile, the rejection of his writings by his own Church, and the solitude of his vocation were not curses to him, but teachers — gentle and terrible guides that reminded him: no earthly dwelling is forever, no human approval eternal. The heart that clings to the world must learn, through sad experiences, to let go.

It is through such pain that we come to re-learn what the soul has always known. The world dazzles us with its treasures — love, friendship, art, and beauty — and these are holy things, yet they are signposts, not destinations. When they fade, as all earthly things must, we are startled into remembrance. The death of a loved one, the loss of a dream, the crumbling of all we held secure — these moments tear the veil that blinds us. They are bitter, yes, but through them we see that we were never meant to stay. Our true homeland lies beyond decay, beyond sorrow, beyond time itself.

The ancients understood this wisdom well. Abraham, the father of faith, left the land of his ancestors and journeyed toward a promise he could not see. He lived in tents, though he was destined to be the father of nations, “for he looked for a city whose builder and maker is God.” He was rich in cattle, land, and years, yet he never called any of them home. His heart, like Teilhard’s, knew that heaven is the only permanent dwelling, and that life on earth is but the road that leads to it.

And yet, how easily we forget! We build our houses as if they were fortresses against eternity; we fill them with possessions and call them security. We cling to relationships as though they could last forever, and when they fail, we cry out as if the heavens themselves have betrayed us. But sorrow is not betrayal — it is awakening. It is heaven’s whisper reminding us: “Do not mistake the inn for the homeland.” Teilhard saw in every heartbreak the mercy of God — the gentle force that loosens our grasp on what will pass away, so that we might reach for what endures.

Think of the countless exiles of history — the wanderers, the broken, the bereaved — who discovered in their suffering a new vision of eternity. When Viktor Frankl walked through the gates of Auschwitz, stripped of everything but his will, he learned that no earthly prison could confine the soul that remembered heaven. Amid death and despair, he wrote that man’s last freedom is “to choose his attitude” — to look upward even when surrounded by hell. And in that upward gaze lies the beginning of salvation — the rediscovery that our home is not of this world.

So, my children of time, do not curse your sorrows, for they are sacred tutors. Let them teach you that joy is not gone, only changed; that home is not lost, only deferred. When you grieve, lift your eyes beyond the ruin, and you will glimpse the radiant country that has always called your name. Walk lightly upon the earth, love deeply but hold gently, give freely without clinging. For each step, each loss, each tear is a reminder that you are passing through, and your journey is toward the eternal dawn.

And when the time comes — when the road is long and the shadows fall — remember the old truth Teilhard spoke: We have but one permanent home, and it is heaven. Let that remembrance steady your spirit and sweeten your suffering. For the sadness that humbles you today is the chisel shaping your soul for glory. Learn from it, rise with it, and walk onward — not as a wanderer lost, but as a pilgrim returning home.