Category: reunion

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Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son: The Father

The story in Luke 15 is popularly named for the prodigal son, but it could be titled, “The Story of the Prodigal Father.” Prodigal means recklessly extravagant, and I think that describes the actions of the father in the story. Jesus told this story in response to the criticism that he ate and drank with sinners. It is a picture of God’s extravagant love toward repentant sinners.

The father granted the younger son’s request, even though it was a slap in the face. As a father, I can begin to imagine the grief he felt as his son rejected him and everything he stood for. Rather than writing the son off as a lost cause, the story seems to indicate that the father was constantly looking for him to return. In spite of his grief he kept hoping. When the prodigal returned, the father saw him coming in the distance and ran to meet him. Imagine this dignified man running out to greet his son. In those days, one who did what the son had done would be met by the village elders if he returned and officially banished. The father was not only overjoyed to see his son, he was also protecting him.

Before the son could get his speech out, his father told the servants to prepare for a huge blowout party. He covered the son’s rag’s with a luxurious robe, put good sandals on his feet, and a ring on his finger. All of these were things a beloved son would wear, not a servant. There were no words of disapproval or recrimination, only grace and compassion. When the elder brother acted like a jerk and refused to join the party, the father went to him with grace, reminding him that he was also a beloved son. Again, there were no harsh words from the father.

We have the same kind of Father. When we wander away from him, forgetting who we are, he is waiting patiently for us to return. He knows we will return because his Spirit draws us. We are told in Scripture that God’s kindness leads us to repentance. He doesn’t force us back and hold us against our will. It’s grace and love that brings us to him, and it’s grace and love that keeps us home. In the same way, when we think we somehow have to perform to cause the Father to love us more, or think our good deeds mean we are better than our brothers, the Father calls us to remember that he loves us because he loves us. He doesn’t love us any less when we screw up, and he doesn’t love us any more when we do good things.

Sometimes we forget who our Father is, and who we are as his children. God calls us back to him, not as a servant. He calls us back, not as someone who has earned his love. No, the Father calls us to return home, remembering that we are his beloved children. He is ready to welcome us with open arms and celebrate our return.

 

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Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son: The Younger Son

A few years back, I did a series of posts on the story of the Prodigal Son. I watched a Tim Keller video on that story a few days ago, and it started me thinking about reposting the series. So here it is.

Today, I’m starting a four part series on the story of the Prodigal Son. The story of the prodigal is a story of God’s grace to his wayward children when they come home. It is also a story with a number of layers that speak to us in different ways at different times in our lives. Henri Nouwen wrote a book titled, The Return of the Prodigal Son, based on his reflections on a painting by Rembrandt. My ramblings come largely from reading this book.

The first person we encounter in the story is the younger son. This son comes to his father and asks for his part of the inheritance that would come to him after his father dies. This is more than just a request to get money due him earlier than he would normally receive it. The ones who heard this story would have been outraged at the attitude of the younger son. In effect, he was saying to his father, “I reject you and everything you stand for, your culture, your religion, everything. I wish you were dead!” In a culture where rebellious children could be stoned to death, this was a dangerous and devastating statement for the son to make and for the father to hear. The father however, decided to give his son what he asked for. He handed over the money and said goodbye. As a father, I can imagine the heartbreak he went through as one of his sons turned his back on everything and left.

The younger son went off to a “distant country,” where he squandered his inheritance on parties and whores. He was completely deaf to the voice that would have reminded him of his father’s love and of what he had been taught. In short, he forgot who he was. I would imagine that most of us can see ourselves in the younger son in some way. Some may have wandered into a life of dissipation and come out of it. Others may have experimented with some things but not gone all the way in. In my own life, I was drawn in to things that were not good for me, although I never wandered completely away. Of course, there are some out there who would consider me a prodigal today.

There is another way to be the younger son, a way that many, many more have fallen into. That is the way of forgetting whose child we are and trying to get our identity from other things or other people. That is the way I most identify with the prodigal. Whether it’s from a job, a skill, a style, or a group of people, we try to prove our worth by other things than what our Father says. Our culture says that what is important is how you dress, what job you have, what kind of car you drive, how much money you make, or what group you hang out with. Unfortunately, those things become like the husks the prodigal wished to eat while feeding the pigs. Trying to find our worth and identity in any thing of this world is a futile exercise, leading to emptiness.

Fortunately for the prodigal, he did come to his senses and remember who he was. I can see him slapping himself on the forehead, and saying, “What am I doing here? I’m not a pig farmer! I’m a son of a father who has a lot of money and food! Why am I starving here?” So, after coming to his senses he returned home. He still didn’t completely remember who we was though. Or better, he didn’t understand completely the kind of person his father was. His plan was to go home and convince his father to give him a job. He didn’t believe his father would accept him back as a son. We sometimes also forget who we are dealing with when we go to our Father. We believe the lies that we can’t be his child if we do certain things, or that we have to do something to get ourselves back into his good graces. We feel we have to “get right with God.” We forget that our Father loves us and always accepts us.

The son returns and finds himself in the midst of a homecoming better than he could have imagined. He can’t get his prepared speech out before his father welcomes him back and throws the biggest party the neighborhood has ever seen. So it is when we come to our senses and remember who we are. We are beloved children of the Creator of the universe. He is pleased with us, and there is absolutely nothing we can do to cause his love to decrease, and nothing we can do to increase his love. He holds us in his hands and nothing can pull us out. Period.

Remember who you are. If you’ve forgotten, your Father is looking for your return so he can lavish his grace and love on you.

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Fifteen Years Already?

It’s hard to believe that it has been fifteen years since my mom went to be with her Savior. Mom had suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease for a number of years. Eventually she reached the point where my dad could no longer take care of her at home, no matter how much he tried. After a short stay in the hospital, Mom was admitted to a local nursing home to live out her final days. It was hard on all of us, but it was especially hard on Dad, who I believe thought that he had failed as a husband. Within a few months, Mom slipped away and we said goodbye.

As it often happens with a disease like Alzheimer’s, there was both sadness and a sense of relief. By the end, Mom didn’t know anyone or anything that was going on. She had gone from the sweetest person anyone could know, to someone else entirely. As her mind slipped away, negative things from her childhood came back to life. We knew that the one we were interacting with was not the wife and mother we knew and loved, so when she died we were relieved that her suffering was over and she was made whole.

I remember the funeral back in Maryland. It was a rainy day, and the song “I Will Praise You in the Storm” came on the radio. While bringing a fresh toreent of tears, the song also brought comfort. I knew that I could praise God in the midst of the physical storm and the emotional storm because the loved me and he loved Mom. She was now resting in his presence and one day all of the tears would be wiped away.

Over the years, the pain has lessened. That is only natural. I still remember all of the good times with a wonder, loving mom who would gladly have given herself up for her children. While I do remember the last couple of years of her life and the struggle it was, I can look back on it thankful that the Father carried me through that with the same loving arms with which he carried Mom home.

I believe that I will see my mom someday, and we will never have to part in tears again.

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Blast From the Past: The Prodigal Son – The Younger Son

This was first posted back in 2011. There are a couple of minor edits.

Today, I’m starting a four part series on the story of the Prodigal Son. The story of the prodigal is a story of God’s grace to his wayward children when they come home. It is also a story with a number of layers that speak to us in different ways at different times in our lives. Henri Nouwen wrote a book titled, The Return of the Prodigal Son, based on his reflections on a painting by Rembrandt. My ramblings come largely from reading this book.

The first person we encounter in the story is the younger son. This son comes to his father and asks for his part of the inheritance that would come to him after his father dies. This is more than just a request to get money due him earlier than he would normally receive it. The ones who heard this story would have been outraged at the attitude of the younger son. In effect, he was saying to his father, “I reject you and everything you stand for, your culture, your religion, everything. I wish you were dead!” In a culture where rebellious children could be stoned to death, this was a dangerous and devastating statement for the son to make and for the father to hear. The father however, decided to give his son what he asked for. He handed over the money and said goodbye. As a father, I can imagine the heartbreak he went through as one of his sons turned his back on everything and left.

The younger son went off to a “distant country,” where he squandered his inheritance on parties and whores. He was completely deaf to the voice that would have reminded him of his father’s love and of what he had been taught. In short, he forgot who he was. I would imagine that most of us can see ourselves in the younger son in some way. Some may have wandered into a life of dissipation and come out of it. Others may have experimented with some things but not gone all the way in. In my own life, I was drawn in to things that were not good for me, although I never wandered completely away. Of course, there are some out there who would consider me a prodigal today.

There is another way to be the younger son, a way that many, many more have fallen into. That is the way of forgetting whose child we are and trying to get our identity from other things or other people. That is the way I most identify with the prodigal. Whether it’s from a job, a skill, a style, or a group of people, we try to prove our worth by other things than what our Father says. Our culture says that what is important is how you dress, what job you have, what kind of car you drive, how much money you make, or what group you hang out with. Unfortunately, those things become like the husks the prodigal wished to eat while feeding the pigs. Trying to find our worth and identity in any thing of this world is a futile exercise, leading to emptiness.

Fortunately for the prodigal, he did come to his senses and remember who he was. I can see him slapping himself on the forehead, and saying, “What am I doing here? I’m not a pig farmer! I’m a son of a father who has a lot of money and food! Why am I starving here?” So, after coming to his senses he returned home. He still didn’t completely remember who we was though. Or better, he didn’t understand completely the kind of person his father was. His plan was to go home and convince his father to give him a job. He didn’t believe his father would accept him back as a son. We sometimes also forget who we are dealing with when we go to our Father. We believe the lies that we can’t be his child if we do certain things, or that we have to do something to get ourselves back into his good graces. We feel we have to “get right with God.” We forget that our Father loves us and always accepts us.

The son returns and finds himself in the midst of a homecoming better than he could have imagined. He can’t get his prepared speech out before his father welcomes him back and throws the biggest party the neighborhood has ever seen. So it is when we come to our senses and remember who we are. We are beloved children of the Creator of the universe. He is pleased with us, and there is absolutely nothing we can do to cause his love to decrease, and nothing we can do to increase his love. He holds us in his hands and nothing can pull us out. Period.

Remember who you are. If you’ve forgotten, your Father is looking for your return so he can lavish his grace and love on you.

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Eastertide Thoughts

It has been one week since those of us in the western church celebrated Easter. The Orthodox tradition will celebrate Easter on May 2 this year. Eastertide is the period between Easter Sunday and Pentecost, so the celebration continues in many churches for a full 50 days. Personally, I think that’s a good idea.

This year, I’ve been doing much more thinking about the importance of Easter to those of us who follow the One who was raised from the dead. I think a 50 day celebration of the event that changed history is something that should be practiced much more than it is now.

This has been a momentous year for many of us, with a lot of things happening that caused us to think about what is really important and about the brevity of our lives here on this earth. A little over a year ago, I had a heart attack. Within a couple of weeks, everything was locked down because of a deadly virus. We didn’t get to celebrate Easter in person last year. We didn’t get to do a whole lot of anything in person last year.

We saw the number of cases and deaths grow as the year went on, and very few of us didn’t at least know someone who caught the virus. Add to this what seemed to be the death of reason and understanding in the civil discourse in this country, and the year looked more bleak as it dragged on. We made it to the end of the year, but the future looked very uncertain.

In some ways the future is looking better. In other ways, there is still turmoil and uncertainty. Personally, my health is much better now, but there are things that have happened to keep the realities of life in a broken world in the forefront. From friends and neighbors who have cancer to friends whose parents have fallen ill, from families that are broken to our small town reeling from a senseless murder and suicide, there is much to make one wonder if there really are any answers.

There are many questions that we may never have answered fully. There are some that may not be answered at all. That is why Eastertide this year has become meaningful to me. I believe that Easter is the answer. We may not have all the details filled in for us, but Easter means that death has been brought down, had all its teeth kicked out, and ground into the dust in defeat.

Because King Jesus rose from the dead and inaugurated his kingdom, I know that my friends with cancer will unltimately be healed and will live in the new creation. I know that there will be peace on earth and the swords will be beaten into plowshares, and there will be no war. I know that there will be no hatred or murder, no struggle over possessions, or arguments over ideas. There will be no cancer, heart trouble, Alzheimer’s or Huntington’s Disease. Every tear will be wiped away and everything sad will become untrue.

Let us rejoice and feast! Break out the champagne! There is nothing worth celebrating more than the fact that death has lost its sting, and the grave has no victory. It is not the end yet, but it will be all right in the end. Hallelujah! Christ is risen!

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40 Years? Really?

Last week, Jan and I took a trip up north to attend my 40th high school reunion. Hard to believe it’s been 40 years! We had a good time, as we combined the reunion with some other stops along the way to see some friends and relatives.

Tuesday, we traveled to Lynchburg, VA, where we spent the night with one of Jan’s college roommates. We had a good time catching up. On Wednesday, we drove north to Ashburn, VA and spent a couple days with a nephew and his wife. We did a bit of walking, around their neighborhood and the nearby town of Leesburg. Friday morning, I went with our nephew and played full court basketball for an hour. I survived and I’m actually proud of myself. I played under control, and my mind (which sometimes thinks I’m still in my 20s) didn’t convince my body to try something I would regret. I didn’t feel too bad the next couple of days. Just a little sore.

After I showed the young guys how to play the game, we traveled to the Rockville, MD area for the reunion as well as some sightseeing. We took a detour to a town near Baltimore where we spent the afternoon with another of Jan’s college roommates, along with her husband, father, and daughter-in-law. We had a great time talking and reminiscing. It was good to see them again after a number of years. Friday night found us at a reunion dinner/happy hour. It was good to see some of my classmates, once they told me their names. For some reason, none of us looked the same as we did 40 years ago.

Saturday morning, we got up and took a trip down memory lane. We drove through our old neighborhoods, taking pictures of the schools we attended, the houses in which we lived, the place where we met, and the church where we were married. We also stopped and visited my parents’ graves, where I found that I still get choked up after almost seven years. It was good to see the old places, most of which looked pretty good. The yards and playgrounds seem to have shrunk quite a bit over the years. So many memories came to mind during our travels that I couldn’t begin to list them here.

After our trip around the past, we went to a cookout where I caught up with even more of my classmates. Again, I remembered them after they told me their names. There was a class picture from 1973 on one wall in the house. It was amazing to see how much hair we all had back then! We ate some good food, had a few drinks, and remembered the good times we had back when. It seemed like a simpler time because we didn’t yet have the responsibilities of careers and families. We were the ones who were going to change the world, and some are doing that, although in smaller ways than we imagined. Most of us have grown up to be responsible adults who are doing some good. We have changed, in ways beyond the obvious physical changes. Some of the changes are good, some are not, but the group that graduated from high school in 1973 really doesn’t exist anymore.

Sunday morning, we headed for home. On the way, we stopped to see another nephew and his wife, along with their two year old son and their six day old daughter. We went from a bunch of memories to a family that was making their own memories that they can tell about 40 years from now. I got to hold our grand-niece and it was good to hold part of the future. It will be fun to see how her life unfolds, as well as the lives of all of our grand- nieces and grand-nephews.

Thomas Wolfe wrote that you can’t go home again. Maybe you can’t. Maybe you can, but it’s not really home. Or maybe, all of our past experiences form the home we’re in today.