The Way Home
When the Prodigal confessed—I have sinned—was he sincere? It appears so. Trudging back home after having made such a fool of himself could not have been easy, but he didn’t dilute his confession with excuses. “I have sinned but ...
• you should not have given me the money.”
• I had to get away from my self-righteous brother.”
• I had temporary insanity.”
• that far country is full of crooks.”
He accepted blame completely, now realizing that “having his own way was the worst thing that could have happened to him.”
The second part of the Prodigal’s homecoming speech also points to his sincerity: I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants. In these words, the Prodigal evidenced a complete surrender, one “without reservation, qualification or equivocation.” He believed he had forfeited the rights of a son and would humbly accept becoming one of his father’s servants. His change of attitude was remarkable. Though he once viewed his home as a prison, he was now willing to imprison himself as a slave in that same household.
Not all prodigals make it home. Some are overwhelmed by their shame: “The pangs which follow a loss of self-respect are tortuous. Not many have sufficient courage to face them. In every possible way they seek to escape. Although God forgives, they cannot forgive themselves. There are thousands of solitary drunkards who drink themselves into oblivion every night in an effort to buy a few hours’ escape from their agonizing loss of self-respect.”
There is only one road home for a prodigal. Returning humbly, brokenly, without excuse to the Father is their “one lone star of hope.”
2011/07/19
2011/06/23
The Prodigal Son: Part 4
"I Have Sinned"
Many Prodigals want liberation, not transformation; the removal of pain, not the removal of guilt. The prophet Hosea describes them: They do not cry out to [God] from their hearts, but wail upon their beds. (14:7) These rebels would gladly stay in the far country if life still worked.
When Jesus’ Prodigal (Luke 15) ran out of money in the far country, he found a job: So he hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to feed pigs. He longed to feed himself with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything. What an indignity for a conscientious Jew—he was hired to feed pigs! And then his employer added to his shame by not paying him. It was at this low point, hungry and humiliated, that he came to his senses. How many of my father’s hired hands have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! He knew what he had to do to live: I will set out and go back to my father.
So the run-away son limped home—all he had left was a broken heart and a prepared speech: Father, I have sinned.... These are exceptional words—even in the Bible. From Genesis to Revelation, the words “I have sinned” occur only thirteen times. And only twice do they appear to be genuine (David and this Prodigal). Those two are the only confessions which include a declaration of guilt and a plea for pardon.
I must be honest--I don’t find confession easy. When I have flung unkind words at my wife and know that my confession can restore peace, I agonize over whether to admit my sin. Though my sin is obvious to both of us, I can’t voice it. Why is my voice box suddenly frozen? Is this a foreign language I don’t know? Would it help to hire a Professor Higgins (My Fair Lady) to teach me how to speak these words? “Repeat after me: `I have sinned. I have sinned. I have sinned.’”
Cathy and I occasionally do some marriage counseling. The first meeting with a couple is totally predictable--each will spew out a long list of the other's failings. They are simply reflecting fallen human nature--a bent toward magnifying others’ sins and minimizing our own. Are you overwhelmed by your mate’s sins? Would you like to confront your best friend with her flaws? Are you angered by the lack of love from a parent? Step back. Take a minute to raise the mirror in front of your own soul. Ask God to help you see your own culpability in whatever is broken between you and someone else: Search me, O God, and know my heart; ... See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. God is the only one who can enable me to see and confess my own sin.
Many Prodigals want liberation, not transformation; the removal of pain, not the removal of guilt. The prophet Hosea describes them: They do not cry out to [God] from their hearts, but wail upon their beds. (14:7) These rebels would gladly stay in the far country if life still worked.
When Jesus’ Prodigal (Luke 15) ran out of money in the far country, he found a job: So he hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to feed pigs. He longed to feed himself with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything. What an indignity for a conscientious Jew—he was hired to feed pigs! And then his employer added to his shame by not paying him. It was at this low point, hungry and humiliated, that he came to his senses. How many of my father’s hired hands have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! He knew what he had to do to live: I will set out and go back to my father.
So the run-away son limped home—all he had left was a broken heart and a prepared speech: Father, I have sinned.... These are exceptional words—even in the Bible. From Genesis to Revelation, the words “I have sinned” occur only thirteen times. And only twice do they appear to be genuine (David and this Prodigal). Those two are the only confessions which include a declaration of guilt and a plea for pardon.
I must be honest--I don’t find confession easy. When I have flung unkind words at my wife and know that my confession can restore peace, I agonize over whether to admit my sin. Though my sin is obvious to both of us, I can’t voice it. Why is my voice box suddenly frozen? Is this a foreign language I don’t know? Would it help to hire a Professor Higgins (My Fair Lady) to teach me how to speak these words? “Repeat after me: `I have sinned. I have sinned. I have sinned.’”
Cathy and I occasionally do some marriage counseling. The first meeting with a couple is totally predictable--each will spew out a long list of the other's failings. They are simply reflecting fallen human nature--a bent toward magnifying others’ sins and minimizing our own. Are you overwhelmed by your mate’s sins? Would you like to confront your best friend with her flaws? Are you angered by the lack of love from a parent? Step back. Take a minute to raise the mirror in front of your own soul. Ask God to help you see your own culpability in whatever is broken between you and someone else: Search me, O God, and know my heart; ... See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. God is the only one who can enable me to see and confess my own sin.
2011/05/25
The Prodigal Son: Part 3
Should Prodigal's Be Rescued?
The Prodigal’s well-healed life was probably sunny for some time. With abundant resources, friends were easily purchased. Their flattery “intoxicated his vanity until he was sure of his superiority.” But when a famine in the land coincided with a famine in his pocketbook, all his “friends” were gone. His wild oats had “ripened into famine, his purchased friends into grunting swine”—He began to be in want.
Oh, the depths of the Prodigal’s humiliation—feeding pigs! “This was the most horrible spiritual hell that could ever befall a halfway decent Jew of that day. To work for a Gentile was bad enough, but to feed pigs was even worse.” Feeding animals which the Law said were unclean, would have been a pious Jew’s “ultimate degradation”—worse than being “forced into begging, thievery, or even prostitution.”
No parent would choose such devastation for his child. But it may be good news and a reason to not run to the far country to save your child. When the prodigal experienced want, when he came to the end of himself—his own strength, his own plans, his own devices, his own friends--only then was he ready to head for home.
David Sheff’s son became lost in the Far Country of Drugs. But from his journey through his lengthy nightmare, he learned how to help lost children: “I would not in any way help someone using drugs to do anything other than return to rehab. I would not pay their rent, would not bail them out of jail ..., would not pay their debts, and would never give them money.” If we "rescue" a Prodigal from living and eating with the pigs, he may never make the journey Home where a feast awaits him.
Sheff came to realize that he could not rescue his son: “I am confident that I have done everything I could do to help Nic. Now it’s up to him. I accept that I have to let him go and he will or will not figure things out.” Some people must learn the hard way that life’s kicks have kickbacks.
The Prodigal’s well-healed life was probably sunny for some time. With abundant resources, friends were easily purchased. Their flattery “intoxicated his vanity until he was sure of his superiority.” But when a famine in the land coincided with a famine in his pocketbook, all his “friends” were gone. His wild oats had “ripened into famine, his purchased friends into grunting swine”—He began to be in want.
Oh, the depths of the Prodigal’s humiliation—feeding pigs! “This was the most horrible spiritual hell that could ever befall a halfway decent Jew of that day. To work for a Gentile was bad enough, but to feed pigs was even worse.” Feeding animals which the Law said were unclean, would have been a pious Jew’s “ultimate degradation”—worse than being “forced into begging, thievery, or even prostitution.”
No parent would choose such devastation for his child. But it may be good news and a reason to not run to the far country to save your child. When the prodigal experienced want, when he came to the end of himself—his own strength, his own plans, his own devices, his own friends--only then was he ready to head for home.
David Sheff’s son became lost in the Far Country of Drugs. But from his journey through his lengthy nightmare, he learned how to help lost children: “I would not in any way help someone using drugs to do anything other than return to rehab. I would not pay their rent, would not bail them out of jail ..., would not pay their debts, and would never give them money.” If we "rescue" a Prodigal from living and eating with the pigs, he may never make the journey Home where a feast awaits him.
Sheff came to realize that he could not rescue his son: “I am confident that I have done everything I could do to help Nic. Now it’s up to him. I accept that I have to let him go and he will or will not figure things out.” Some people must learn the hard way that life’s kicks have kickbacks.
2011/05/09
The Prodigal Son: Part 2
The Lure of "Far Countries"
The Prodigal was enraptured by the promise of the far country. And surprisingly, Dad gave this impudent son his future inheritance—He divided his living between them. Why would Dad give in to his son when he certainly could have predicted the tragic results? As Norman Cox has written, there “comes a time when fathers can no longer protect their children from themselves.” Dad knew that this boy would have to learn hard truths the hard way. One of those truths is that far countries “always turn out more and more like home the longer you stay there.... People are people the world over. If they cut your throat on Wall Street, they will skin you alive in Hong Kong. If they don’t appreciate you in Podunk where they know you, they certainly won’t appreciate you in Paris where they never saw you before. At home the young son was at least the son of his father. In the far country he was only a foreign yokel ripe for fleecing.”
How many of us have felt the pull of the far country—a new city, a new job, a new church, a new spouse? I know a woman in a troubled marriage whose friends wanted to navigate her to a destination called RELIEF. The ports-of-call on this cruise sounded lovely: Peace, Freedom, New Start, New Husband. But in the same way that cruise brochures conveniently leave out some destinations: Sickness, Stormy Seas, Cramped Accommodations, her friends description of Relief failed to mention that she would also dock at Distressed Children, Loneliness, and Financial Stress. Though her friends’ advice promised to remove her pain and offer a quick solution, she discovered that she had been duped. She was believing the “lies of Satan rather than the harsh but redemptive truths of God.” When she was willing to listen, God showed her that her marriage’s problems were not terminal, that her husband was not solely at fault, that with God’s help and hard work she could save her marriage.
The Prodigal was enraptured by the promise of the far country. And surprisingly, Dad gave this impudent son his future inheritance—He divided his living between them. Why would Dad give in to his son when he certainly could have predicted the tragic results? As Norman Cox has written, there “comes a time when fathers can no longer protect their children from themselves.” Dad knew that this boy would have to learn hard truths the hard way. One of those truths is that far countries “always turn out more and more like home the longer you stay there.... People are people the world over. If they cut your throat on Wall Street, they will skin you alive in Hong Kong. If they don’t appreciate you in Podunk where they know you, they certainly won’t appreciate you in Paris where they never saw you before. At home the young son was at least the son of his father. In the far country he was only a foreign yokel ripe for fleecing.”
How many of us have felt the pull of the far country—a new city, a new job, a new church, a new spouse? I know a woman in a troubled marriage whose friends wanted to navigate her to a destination called RELIEF. The ports-of-call on this cruise sounded lovely: Peace, Freedom, New Start, New Husband. But in the same way that cruise brochures conveniently leave out some destinations: Sickness, Stormy Seas, Cramped Accommodations, her friends description of Relief failed to mention that she would also dock at Distressed Children, Loneliness, and Financial Stress. Though her friends’ advice promised to remove her pain and offer a quick solution, she discovered that she had been duped. She was believing the “lies of Satan rather than the harsh but redemptive truths of God.” When she was willing to listen, God showed her that her marriage’s problems were not terminal, that her husband was not solely at fault, that with God’s help and hard work she could save her marriage.
2011/04/20
The Prodigal Son: Part 1, What Is Freedom?
The son of a wealthy rancher came to his father with a demand:
The father in my account asked a good question: "What is freedom?" Is it a “life without limits”? An unrestricted life would be like driving a car without any road rules—Demolition Derby here we come! Proper limits actually increase our freedom. I feel free to drive my car on the highway because I know most drivers will obey laws like: “Drive on the right side of the road.”
Peter Kreeft has written that God’s laws are the fence He puts up near life’s cliffs. I welcome a fence when I am standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon—it is for my protection. Though I still have the freedom to blast through it or leap over it, the predictable result will be a shattered body. The rules in the Prodigal's household were a blessing to that young man. He began to be in want after he fled to the far country.
God’s laws, then, are designed to shelter us. When a couple refuses to wander sexually, it gives them a more satisfying sex life (as surveys show repeatedly.) When a person refuses to manipulate others, he delights in healthy relationships. When a leader rejects enthroning himself, he will find joy in serving others. There is a moral current to this world. You have the freedom to paddle upstream. But is that freedom?
“Dad, give me my share of your estate.”This essentially is the opening of the Biblical story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15). In the Biblical account: (a)the son wanted his inheritance—Father, give me the share of property that belongs to me. (b)The father gave him his share!—So he divided his living between [his two sons]. (c)The son split—Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took his journey into a far country.
“But son, I haven’t died yet.”
“So what? I still want you to cash in your IRA and your insurance policies, sell your stocks, and give me my share of the money.”
“But son, where are you going?
“Someplace a whole lot better than here.”
“But, son, what is your hurry?”
“Dad, you haven’t let me experience the world. How can I become my own man while I am living under all these binding rules? I need freedom!"
“But son, what is freedom?”
The father in my account asked a good question: "What is freedom?" Is it a “life without limits”? An unrestricted life would be like driving a car without any road rules—Demolition Derby here we come! Proper limits actually increase our freedom. I feel free to drive my car on the highway because I know most drivers will obey laws like: “Drive on the right side of the road.”
Peter Kreeft has written that God’s laws are the fence He puts up near life’s cliffs. I welcome a fence when I am standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon—it is for my protection. Though I still have the freedom to blast through it or leap over it, the predictable result will be a shattered body. The rules in the Prodigal's household were a blessing to that young man. He began to be in want after he fled to the far country.
God’s laws, then, are designed to shelter us. When a couple refuses to wander sexually, it gives them a more satisfying sex life (as surveys show repeatedly.) When a person refuses to manipulate others, he delights in healthy relationships. When a leader rejects enthroning himself, he will find joy in serving others. There is a moral current to this world. You have the freedom to paddle upstream. But is that freedom?
2011/03/07
Gardening the Soul: The Harvest, 8
Special Times and Seasons
Late summer is watermelon time in Texas. Young Allen Lacy asked his granddaddy why they couldn't eat it all year round. This elderly man's thoughtful reply was:
We have watermelons because the Good Lord saw fit to give us watermelons. It was one of the better things He did, and special things need special times and seasons. God gave Texas a little more heat than most places just so that our watermelons would be the best on earth. It's a blessing, but the last thing in the world we need here in Texas is a few more months of heat, just for the sake of more watermelon.
Unfortunately, most grocers are not bound by "times and seasons"—I can buy peaches any month of the year. But how does a January peach taste that was picked green in South America, trucked to a port, shipped to a U.S. port, trucked to a warehouse and, finally, delivered to my grocery store? What do you think?! It is either stone hard or mushy soft. After dozens of disappointments, this fool is learning to resist the false hope of non-seasonal fruit. I now spend my money on fall apples, winter citrus, spring asparagus, summer peaches.
The challenge in life, too, is to enjoy seasonal fruit. Solomon claimed: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. (Eccl.3:1) Are you a parent of young children? Then enjoy the sweet taste of morning snuggling and bedtime reading, of candid conversations and corkscrewed reasoning, of trusting spirits and untrustworthy emotions. That delicate fruit will soon be gone. Don't crave a child who uses the toilet and sleeps through the night and carries on a rational discussion (which won't happen until they are 40!).
We South Dakotans joke that we have two seasons—winter and road repair! And both provide abundant ammunition for complainers. A number of years ago Cathy and I recognized that we were habitually crabbing about our bleak winters. "Why does it have to be so cold?" "I don't think spring will ever come." "These icy roads are horrible!" "I'm so tired of being cold; I can't wait to be hot." "Why would anyone choose to live here?!"
Stabbed by prisoner Paul's claim that he could be content in any and every situation, we sought to enjoy the season of winter. We bought cross-country skis. We put a wood-burning fireplace in our new home. We spend time with friends more frequently. We bundle up most winter days—if the snowdrifts aren't too high or the wind-chill too low—and hike with our dog. Our goal is to embrace the slower pace of winter. While the garden and other warm-weather activities lie dormant, we have more time to read, reflect, converse, write.
Do you find yourself in poverty? Are you going through a season of poor health? Have you recently become empty-nesters? When our boys were young it was a challenge to get them to taste new food. "Com'n. Try a little taste. You'll like it." Maybe our heavenly Father is coaxing his kids in the same way. "Com'n. This season's fruit is superb. Won't you try a bite?"
Late summer is watermelon time in Texas. Young Allen Lacy asked his granddaddy why they couldn't eat it all year round. This elderly man's thoughtful reply was:
We have watermelons because the Good Lord saw fit to give us watermelons. It was one of the better things He did, and special things need special times and seasons. God gave Texas a little more heat than most places just so that our watermelons would be the best on earth. It's a blessing, but the last thing in the world we need here in Texas is a few more months of heat, just for the sake of more watermelon.
Unfortunately, most grocers are not bound by "times and seasons"—I can buy peaches any month of the year. But how does a January peach taste that was picked green in South America, trucked to a port, shipped to a U.S. port, trucked to a warehouse and, finally, delivered to my grocery store? What do you think?! It is either stone hard or mushy soft. After dozens of disappointments, this fool is learning to resist the false hope of non-seasonal fruit. I now spend my money on fall apples, winter citrus, spring asparagus, summer peaches.
The challenge in life, too, is to enjoy seasonal fruit. Solomon claimed: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. (Eccl.3:1) Are you a parent of young children? Then enjoy the sweet taste of morning snuggling and bedtime reading, of candid conversations and corkscrewed reasoning, of trusting spirits and untrustworthy emotions. That delicate fruit will soon be gone. Don't crave a child who uses the toilet and sleeps through the night and carries on a rational discussion (which won't happen until they are 40!).
We South Dakotans joke that we have two seasons—winter and road repair! And both provide abundant ammunition for complainers. A number of years ago Cathy and I recognized that we were habitually crabbing about our bleak winters. "Why does it have to be so cold?" "I don't think spring will ever come." "These icy roads are horrible!" "I'm so tired of being cold; I can't wait to be hot." "Why would anyone choose to live here?!"
Stabbed by prisoner Paul's claim that he could be content in any and every situation, we sought to enjoy the season of winter. We bought cross-country skis. We put a wood-burning fireplace in our new home. We spend time with friends more frequently. We bundle up most winter days—if the snowdrifts aren't too high or the wind-chill too low—and hike with our dog. Our goal is to embrace the slower pace of winter. While the garden and other warm-weather activities lie dormant, we have more time to read, reflect, converse, write.
Do you find yourself in poverty? Are you going through a season of poor health? Have you recently become empty-nesters? When our boys were young it was a challenge to get them to taste new food. "Com'n. Try a little taste. You'll like it." Maybe our heavenly Father is coaxing his kids in the same way. "Com'n. This season's fruit is superb. Won't you try a bite?"
2011/02/21
Gardening the Soul: The Harvest, 7
The Expectations of the Harvest
One seed catalog described several varieties of the same vegetable: "adds zest to salads," "most astonishing," "out-standing tenderness," "bursting with flavor and nutrition," "distinctive flavor." Which exotic vegetable were they describing? The green bean! All these tinseled descriptions make it difficult to know what a mature garden looks or tastes like.
Many of us are no less ignorant of the flavor of a mature relationship. Mildred Walker's novel, Winter Wheat, tells the story of Ellen Webb—the only child of her American father and her Russian mother. While attending college, Ellen fell in love with Gil, a young man who came to her farm home for a summer visit. But after a shortened stay, he bolted home. When mom tried to comfort Ellen, Ellen exploded, blaming her parents’ marriage for Gil’s departure:
Mom explained that she had deceived her father. But it was only because she was seventeen, in love, and had already lost all of her family during World War I. Though Ben was upset by her deception, his love wouldn't allow him to hold a grudge. Mom looked at Ellen and sighed: “Yolochka, you don't know how love is yet."
What does a healthy marriage look like? a healthy friendship? Many of us hold a ripe friendship in our hands but don't recognize it because it has a few blemishes. As Jesus agonized over his date with the cross, he confessed to his disciples, Peter, James and John: "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death." As he strained to obey the Father's will, he im-plored his friends to keep watch and pray. But his friends promptly fell asleep--not once, not twice, but three times! How many of us would hang onto friends who snored through the crisis of our lives? Though certainly disappointed, Jesus knew his friends' hearts: "The spirit is willing, but the body is weak." All mature relationships have frequent failings.
One seed catalog described several varieties of the same vegetable: "adds zest to salads," "most astonishing," "out-standing tenderness," "bursting with flavor and nutrition," "distinctive flavor." Which exotic vegetable were they describing? The green bean! All these tinseled descriptions make it difficult to know what a mature garden looks or tastes like.
Many of us are no less ignorant of the flavor of a mature relationship. Mildred Walker's novel, Winter Wheat, tells the story of Ellen Webb—the only child of her American father and her Russian mother. While attending college, Ellen fell in love with Gil, a young man who came to her farm home for a summer visit. But after a shortened stay, he bolted home. When mom tried to comfort Ellen, Ellen exploded, blaming her parents’ marriage for Gil’s departure:
"I'm not like you, Mom, so I'd do anything to get a man to marry me!” Mom looked at me so blankly it made me all the angrier. “Don't look as though you didn't know what I was talking about. I know how you tricked Dad. I overheard you the night after Gil left. I know he married you and took you to America because you told him you were pregnant. And when he knew you weren't going to have a child it was too late. He was married to you, and he was too honorable to go away and leave you." I couldn't seem to stop. I watched my words fall like blows on Mom's face.
"And you've gone on all these years hating each other. Gil felt that hate. He could tell just being here. That's one of the things that drove him away from here, from me." I almost choked on my own words. I guess I was crying. Mom was still so long I looked up at her. All the color had gone out of her face, except in her eyes. She shook her head. "You don't know anything, Yelena. In our church if baby is not christened we say she go blind in next world. I think you go blind in this world—blind dumb! She stopped and then went on slowly. "No, Yelena, I never hate Ben `an Ben don't hate me. I love him here so all these years!" Mom touched her breast and her face broke into life. Her eyes were softer, "Me hate Ben"! She laughed.
Mom explained that she had deceived her father. But it was only because she was seventeen, in love, and had already lost all of her family during World War I. Though Ben was upset by her deception, his love wouldn't allow him to hold a grudge. Mom looked at Ellen and sighed: “Yolochka, you don't know how love is yet."
What does a healthy marriage look like? a healthy friendship? Many of us hold a ripe friendship in our hands but don't recognize it because it has a few blemishes. As Jesus agonized over his date with the cross, he confessed to his disciples, Peter, James and John: "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death." As he strained to obey the Father's will, he im-plored his friends to keep watch and pray. But his friends promptly fell asleep--not once, not twice, but three times! How many of us would hang onto friends who snored through the crisis of our lives? Though certainly disappointed, Jesus knew his friends' hearts: "The spirit is willing, but the body is weak." All mature relationships have frequent failings.
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