You're Not From Here Are You?

There is a line in Scripture that has been echoing in my mind lately:

“But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 3:20

Right now I’m living in South Africa. But legally speaking, I’m a citizen of the United States of America.

Let me say this clearly before going any further. I’m not comparing America to heaven. 😂🤣 That comparison would break down pretty quickly. What I’m interested in is the simple idea of citizenship. The reality of living somewhere while belonging somewhere else.

When you do that long enough, something interesting happens. People can tell. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it’s obvious. But sooner or later your citizenship "leaks out" - for lack of a better expression.

In the United States, there’s a normal category of eating out called "grabbing a quick bite to eat." I'm not saying we're ALWAYS in a hurry. It just means there is a socially accepted rhythm where you can pop in, eat, pay, and be on your way because you are on your way somewhere NOW.

Here, that category barely exists.

Meals stretch. Conversations linger. The restaurant experience has a completely different pace. The first time I asked for the check fairly quickly, it was like I threw the entire staff off their rhythm. It wasn’t rude per se. It was just… confusing.

Like, why are we ending this already?

I had a strong suspicion in that moment that I had just revealed myself.

“Ah. American.”

Another moment that exposes me shows up in text messages.

I’ll send something like:

“Hey, do you have the contact for the guy who fixes the gate?”

And the response comes back:

“Good morning Jake. Hope you are well.”

Immediately I realize that I jumped straight into the middle of a conversation that technically hadn’t started yet.

Transaction first. Relationship second - another foreign accent I carry.

There are other moments too. Moments where I believe that things can ACTUALLY change. Where I encourage people to dream bigger than they have considered dreaming before. Sometimes that resonates. Other times it feels foreign in places where generations of limitations have shaped expectations.

Even money reveals my citizenship. The purchasing power tied to the country where I’m a citizen behaves very differently here. The same amount of money carries a completely different weight depending on which economic system it comes from.

And of course there’s the obvious stuff.

My voice has an accent. There are languages around me that I simply cannot speak. Cultural references that make perfect sense to locals but sail right past me. Practices and assumptions that are so normal here that I sometimes realize… I just don’t have a framework for understanding them.

I live here.

But I’m not from here.

And all of that has made me think more about the verse in Philippians.

If my citizenship is actually in heaven, shouldn’t that reality show up in similar ways? Shouldn't it "leak out?"

Do I actually sound like someone whose citizenship is somewhere else?

Do my values carry an accent that reflects heaven?

I actually WANT to theow the "locals" off their rhythm by how quickly I forgive.

I want generosity to feel more normal than clinging tightly to what I have. I welcome the sideways glances because I gave "too much." I'd even love to smile and say, "Oh - that's how we do it where I'm from."

I want hope to show up in my thinking even when circumstances don’t immediately justify it.

I want to LOVE the people that the residents tell me its okay to hate.

I want my instinct to be partnership with God rather than control of outcomes.

And if I notice that my life sounds exactly like the culture around me, maybe that’s a moment to pause and check my citizenship again. Not so much from a place of "the world around me is bad." Just because citizens usually carry the values of the place they come from.

When foreigners live abroad, their accent eventually reveals them. Their assumptions, their habits, their instincts give them away.

Maybe the same should slowly become true for people whose citizenship is in heaven. Not perfectly. Not loudly. But in small moments where something about the way we think, forgive, hope, or give feels slightly unfamiliar to the world around us.

A quiet accent.

A reminder that while we live fully present here, our deepest loyalty and identity come from somewhere else.

I'd like to simply "leak out" in subtle ways every day.