This is the question at the very center of “Bring Us Home.” Everything else (every character, every song, every scene) grows out of this one idea. So today I want to sit in it with you for a minute, because I think it might be more personal than you’d expect.
The question itself
In my musical, this question belongs to Aviva, a young woman born in Babylon, seventy years into the exile. She has never set foot in Jerusalem. She has never seen the Temple, never smelled the smoke of the altar, never walked through the gates everyone keeps singing about.
All she has is a song her mother sings: a lullaby about a golden city, doves in the morning, a home that is supposedly hers even though she’s never been there.
And one night, she finally says what she’s been feeling for years:
“How do I grieve a home I’ve never had?”
That line is the thesis of the entire show.
Why this isn’t just an ancient question
Here’s what struck me as I was writing this: Aviva’s question isn’t really about Jerusalem. Not only, anyway. It’s about inheritance. It’s about carrying something (a longing, a calling, a faith, an identity) that was handed to you by people who lived it firsthand, when you’ve only ever known it secondhand.
I think about this in terms of faith all the time. So many of us were raised on stories of what God has done, what He’s promised, what “home” (eternal home) actually means. We sing about it. We believe it. But most of us haven’t seen it yet either. We’re carrying an ache for something we know is real, even though we’ve never stood in it.
Aviva’s question, how do you ache for a home you’ve never seen, is every believer’s question, if you really sit with it.
The twist: maybe the ache IS the proof
Here’s where the theme really opens up for me. In the show, Aviva’s “I want” song is called “Why Must I Weep,” and by the end of it, she starts to wonder something different. What if the weight she feels, the longing itself, isn’t a sign that the city is fake or far away?
What if the ache is proof that the city is real?
You don’t grieve for things that never existed. You don’t carry homesickness for a place with no name. The very fact that something in her aches for Jerusalem, a place she’s never seen, might be the strongest evidence she has that it’s real, and that it’s hers.
I love that idea so much. I think it’s true for us too. That longing for “home” (for restoration, for things to be made right, for the life we sense we were made for) isn’t a flaw. It might be the most honest thing about us.
The real enemy isn’t what you’d think
There’s a second layer to this theme that I’ll dig into more in a future post, but I want to plant it here: in “Bring Us Home,” the real danger Aviva faces isn’t Babylon’s cruelty. It’s Babylon’s comfort. It’s so much easier to stop aching for home when home is hard to remember and the life in front of you is easy.
That tension, between the ache that keeps you tethered to where you’re going and the comfort that tries to convince you to stop caring, runs through this entire story.
I want to hear from you
This question has been sitting with me for months now, and I don’t think I’m done with it. So I want to ask you directly:
💬 Comment below and tell me: is there something in your life you’ve ached for without ever having “had” it? A calling, a relationship, a season of healing, a sense of home? I’d love to hear how you’ve carried that.
📱 Follow me on Instagram and Facebook at @TheMelanieGrace. I’ll be unpacking more of this theme as we go.
💌 Sign up for my email list for the full story behind “Bring Us Home,” song by song.
🎧 Follow me on Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon Music, and YouTube Music so the music finds you the moment it’s released.
Tomorrow, I want to talk about the other side of this theme: why I believe the real enemy in this story was never Babylon’s cruelty.
