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I haven’t posted anything here for a long time, which they say is the worst blogging sin you can commit.  Firmly committed to the principle of grace, I can only respond, “Oh, well.”  But, I’ve been thinking, which probably means eventually I’ll be writing again.  I do plan to continue my “This I Know” series, which focuses on the simple things of Christianity that I knew as a child, and which I still believe are true.

This post will probably be rewritten at some point as part of that series.

This weeks’ revelation

I occasionally have revelations, typically when I least expect them. That’s probably why they fall under the category of revelations. I had one yesterday. Contrary to the popular concept of revelations, the heavens didn’t open, I didn’t receive stone or golden tablets (or tablets of any kind), and I still don’t understand Lady Gaga. My revelation was more along the lines of a head-slapping, “I could have had a V8!” moment. It happened as I was not having a good day and there was very little chance of interpreting the glass as being half-full. My revelation was this:

Cast your cares upon him, as he cares for you. ~1 Peter 5:7

“Him,” by the way, refers to Jesus (I just had to clarify that in case someone took this to mean I had suddenly come to embrace Obamacare.  And no, having a revelation of this sort does nothing to inhibit my tendency towards sarcasm.).

I have to say, I felt a bit foolish, as I have known this verse since I was a child. It’s so incredibly obvious that for this to be considered a revelation, I must be particularly dull. And, perhaps experiencing some adult-onset ADS, I began to appreciate the play on words in this particular translation. “Anxiety” just doesn’t have the same impact as the double use of “cares.”

It is impossible for us to say that we have no one to turn to, as Jesus is always standing there with an implied “What am I, chopped liver?” response.  There are those who will point out that talking to Jesus is not the same as talking to someone you can touch; however, I’ve never been inclined to touch most of my friends anyway. Atheists can refuse to believe he exists, but their failure to believe doesn’t change the truth of the verse. Likewise, our forgetfulness doesn’t change the fact that Jesus is there, ready to take our yoke, carry our burdens, and so on.

For this, I am thankful.

Count your blessings

As a kid, my dad would always frustrate me with that “count your blessings” thing. Often, I didn’t want to count my blessings, as I knew that I would have to let go of my grumbling and complaining to do so. It’s impossible to do both at the same time. Even if we try, acknowledging that something is a blessing—something that we have received through grace, for which we have to be thankful—causes us to have to let go of our negativity.

This doesn’t mean that we will automatically be free from our anxieties, but being thankful does point us in the right direction.

Thanks

This Thursday is Thanksgiving, probably the only holiday that is permanently fixed on a Thursday rather than on a numerical day of the month. This is not really pertinent to my topic, but I do find it interesting. Why Thursday, except to kick off a 4-day weekend? Thanksgiving is not strictly a religious holiday, although it does presume that there is Someone to thank.  You could, I guess thank yourself for everything you’ve accomplished, or sit around and thank each other. You could thank your employer for the paychecks,  and you could thank the government for the roads and so on, and I suppose you could thank universe for kicking things off with a Big Bang. But, it’s not the same.

Thanksgiving traditionally commemorates the mythological First Thanksgiving (not that it can’t be true, but mythological in the sense that it has come to represent something larger than itself), where the Pilgrims threw a feast to celebrate being alive after a difficult 1st year in the new world, and gave thanks to God the provider for what they had been given.

Being thankful—whether we like it or not, or whether we acknowledge it or not—points us toward our creator and provider. And, for those of us who can acknowledge Jesus the source of all good things, it puts us in the perfect position to cast our cares on him.

I have a lot to be thankful for. Without getting too personal, I’ll just say that I’m happy to be here. Today is my son’s birthday, and I’m thankful for him. I’m thankful for my non-birthday kids, too. I’m thankful for my wife, and for the family members that are still with us (I’ve lost a few over the years). I’m thankful for God’s provision, and a lot of other things I won’t mention, specifically the banjo.

Now that I’m older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I have learned that I don’t like to grumble and complain. No one will listen to me anyway. I’d actually much rather be thankful. I like counting my blessings, one by one. It makes me feel better, and keeps me from getting wacked out over things that won’t matter 10 years from now.

The real meaning of Thanksgiving

People always talk about “the real meaning of Christmas,” but no one ever talks about the real meaning of Thanksgiving. It’s not football, or turkey, or shopping. It’s also not about family, as good as family is. The real importance of Thanksgiving is having a day set aside to reorient ourselves toward the only one who will actually catch our cares should we decide to cast them in his direction.

And that, Charlie Brown, is what Thanksgiving is all about.

I grew up in a church who read from the Gospels each week (along with a passage from the Epistles, and the Old Testament). Sermons were sometimes based on the Epistles, but I seem to recall more coming from the Gospels. For one thing, the Gospels were stories, and even children could understand most of them. Secondly, I suspect that a lot of the impact came from the fact that the Gospels contained the words of Jesus, not simply words about Jesus.

I don’t recall any sermons having the message that as Christians, our lives would be a bed of roses. It’s actually hard to come up with this kind of belief if you actually read the Gospels. Jesus actually promises us quite a bit of trouble, when you come right down to it. And, as he lived as one of us for 30-plus years, and ended up being tortured and killed, I think he understood what he was talking about.

One of Jesus’ most famous sermons is the Sermon on the Mount, recorded in Matthew chapter 5. In a section known as the beatitudes, or the “blesseds,” Jesus says,

3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
4 Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
5 Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
7 Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
8 Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
9 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
10 Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

While some of the traits Jesus mentions are positive, such as being pure in heart, merciful and being a peacemaker, I don’t believe Jesus is saying that all of these are things to shoot for. Rather, he seems to be pointing out people who were personally suffering, or who were sacrificing their own good for the good of others. He did not meant that it is good to mourn or to be persecuted—in fact, the Lord’s Prayer teaches us to pray to be delivered from evil, which these things certainly are. While the beatitudes are promises of hope and the coming Kingdom, Jesus knew that even though the Kingdom of God was at hand (Matt. 3:2), for the present time there will be suffering.

The Kingdom of God—the rule of God—has been described as “already but not yet.” It is “at hand” or “within reach,” but yet Jesus asks us to pray that the Kingdom of God would come to “Earth as it is in Heaven.” Of course, when I was a child, this was beyond me, but yet I understood that God was in control in spite of suffering—and that at some future point, everything would be set right. Those who mourn would be comforted, and the poor in spirit would inherit Heaven. In other words, the future would more than compensate for the present.

As a parent, I understand this now, as I watched my children fall when learning to ride a bike and take medicine that was hard to swallow. It is a matter of perspective. We need to learn to see beyond the present into the future, trusting that from God’s point of view, it all works out to our good.

At times there is healing and prosperity, and at times there is suffering and mourning. God sent the Comforter because we would need comforting, and he sent Jesus to bring hope and salvation in the midst of it all. Those of us who know God understand this hope.

That’s what it really means to be blessed.

1.       When is the last time you heard a sermon from the Gospels?
2.       How have you experienced the comfort of the Holy Spirit?

One thing I don’t remember hearing in church as a child was a sermon on the Elder Son, who appears to be something of a peripheral character in the Prodigal Son story. In fact, I was probably in my 30’s when I heard my first “elder son” sermon. This is odd when you think of it, especially considering that the elder son is a very distinct reference to those in the crown to whom Jesus was directing this series of stories.

Let’s back up to the beginning of Luke chapter 15:

The tax collectors and sinners all came to listen to Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law began to complain: “Look, this man welcomes sinners and even eats with them (Luke 15:1,2 NCV).”

It was at this point that Jesus launched into this trio of stories, The Lost Sheep, The Lost Coin, and what we know as The Prodigal Son. I think Jesus had three goals in mind, especially with the 3^rd story: One, he was emphasizing to those who may have become disenfranchised by the attitude of the Pharisees and teachers how much they were valued by Jesus. He was also explaining something about the mindset of God and God’s economy. Three, he wanted to reveal to the Pharisees and teachers something about themselves.

It’s easy for most of us to identify with the foolish son. It’s also very easy for us to judge those we have identified with the Elder Son Syndrome — those who would judge us for being somewhat less than perfect and for occasionally requiring a little “extra” grace.

Over the years, I’ve found how easy it is to shift from younger son to elder son.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One minute we are humbled by the grace of God, the next we are judging the person next to us for lighting up a cigarette or displaying multiple piercings and tattoos, never mind the fact that we are engaged in and enjoying our own freedoms (for which we are being judged by the gossiping fundamentalist over in the corner).  It’s all relative, isn’t it?  We know the grace we have received, and so can rest in our own brand of personal freedoms (“according to our faith”). However, we aren’t quite so sure about anyone else, and besides, we don’t do those particular things.

The thing with the elder brother was that he had made up his own set of rules in which to operate. In his virtual reality, he worked hard, protected his father’s assets (was stingy), and assumed one didn’t kill the fatted calf on a whim. Celebrations of that nature were extravagant; the money could have gone to the temple, or to feed the poor. And, you at least waited until your father was dead to squander your inheritance.

The elder son didn’t understand his father’s economy at all. He must have thought his father weak-minded or deceived to have already given away 1/3 of his assets, especially to someone he knew to be wasteful and wanton. But to welcome the lazy bum back, and then give him the family checkbook? Was his father crazy?

I think most of us can relate to the Elder Son, and we might respond the same way given these circumstances — as least I think I would. Not only did my stupid, foolish brother get a chunk of cash, but I was left doing all of the chores (not that he actually did them, anyway). For years I’ve consoled myself with the thought that everything I was working for was mine; but now, he’s cut back in for another share, and has access to the family bank accounts!

Those of us who work hard at being good Christians — who faithfully attend church, serve in various ways, live responsible lives, and struggle daily with making ends meet — can have a very hard time with those Christians who sometimes don’t act like they understand the price of grace at all. You all know who I mean; you probably have someone in mind right now. These folks come and go as they please, spend their Sundays with their jet skis, take marvelous vacations, and seemingly live the high life, and still have the nerve to call themselves Christians. They live their lives in debt, both spiritually and physically, but there always seems to be more and more grace for them. What’s up with that? As Jeremiah complained, “Why do the wicked prosper” (Jer. 12:1)?

Even I, who has experienced so much grace throughout my life, can very easily slip into the Elder Son Syndrome and start to judge those around me. The first time I was made aware of my inner Elder Son, it literally stopped me in my tracks. I was shocked to discover that I was so quick to apply grace to myself, but so hesitant to apply it to others. I realized that I didn’t understand grace quite so much as I had imagined.

One of the benefits of growing up Lutheran is that in the liturgy every Sunday, we were all reminded of the grace we have received, and why we needed it in the first place. Regardless of how rich or poor we were, the liturgy was the great equalizer. Within the first few minutes of church each Sunday, we would say this:

Almighty God, our Maker and Redeemer, we poor sinners confess unto thee, that we are by nature sinful and unclean, and that we have sinned against thee by thought, word and deed. Wherefore we flee for refuge to thine infinite mercy, seeking and imploring thy grace, for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ.

O most merciful God, who has given thine only-begotten Son to die for us, have mercy upon us and for his sake grant us remission of all our sins: and by thy Holy Spirit increase in us true knowledge of thee and of thy will, and true obedience to they Word, that by thy grace we may come to everlasting life, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Almighty God, our heavenly Father, hath had mercy upon us, and hath given his only Son to die for us, and for his sake forgiveth us all our sins. To them that believe on his Name, he giveth power to become the sons of God, and bestoweth upon them his Holy Spirit. He that believeth, and is baptized, shall be saved. Grant this, O Lord, unto us all.

Amen. (1958 Service Book & Hymnal)

We have memories like sieves, and we must be reminded — often — that we are in desperate need of grace, and that there is never any grace shortage, either for us or for others. God’s grace is always sufficient, wherever we happen fall on the younger son–elder son continuum.

Questions:

1. Which son do you tend to see yourself as the most?
2. Do you have any “foolish brothers” that test your understanding of grace?

My former pastor and continued friend, Ken Blue, calls the parable of the Prodigal Son The Greatest Story Ever Told. I am guessing that of all of Jesus’ parables, this one — found only in the Gospel of Luke (15:11-32) — has to be the most well-known. I knew is well as a child, hearing it in Sunday School as well as in church, both as the Gospel reading for the day and as a few sermon topics.

It is a truly great story. It has everything (except for a love interested): family issues, a great deal of sin, inner conflict, sibling rivalry, a change of heart, and a happy ending. (Well, sort of — the elder son still has issues at the end of the story, and as I’ll deal with in an upcoming post, it’s up to the audience to determine how that resolves.)

As with most people (as is obvious from the popular title of the story) as a child I was focused on the younger, prodigal son. The prodigal is the obvious focus, as this is who we follow in the story; we really don’t know much about what the Father and the good son were up to while the prodigal sowed his wild oats.

The story begins like an old Vaudeville joke; imagine George Burns: “A man had two sons…” Jesus, of course, was a great storyteller, and no doubt had the crowd’s undivided attention as he began (actually, this is the third in a series of three stories about the recovery of something presumed lost).

The younger son, according to Jewish law, would get a lesser portion of the inheritance when the father died. Rather than wait around for this, and obviously not placing any value in his relationship with his father, requests his share of the inheritance now. Essentially, he says, “Our relationship is as good as dead now, so let’s quit pretending.”  The father, rather than just kicking him out into the cold, agrees to the son’s demand.

The prodigal takes off and starts to party. He breaks as many commandments as he can, until suddenly he finds himself stung out, broke, homeless and hungry. He’s got a part time job feeding pigs, perhaps the worst job a good Jewish boy could imagine.

He realizes that there’s food back at his Father’s place, and he devises a plan. At this point, he still isn’t looking for relationship, nor is he looking for forgiveness. He just wants food. He knows his father’s business, and figures that his father may hire him on and let him sleep in the barn; at least he’ll be inside.

The amazing thing about this story is that if you read it a certain way, the prodigal remains a jerk throughout the story. As a child, I’m not sure I understood this part; in fact, most people don’t seem to. Most people imagine that some kind of repentance happened, that the prodigal’s “I am no longer worthy” speech indicates humility and that he is mourning the loss of relationship. However, the son’s speech could just be a clever attempt to diffuse his father’s presumed anger so he can make his pitch: “Hey, I know I blew it, so don’t preach at me. I’m not asking to rejoin the family, just let me be one of the day-laborers.”

I was a good kid, always afraid of getting in trouble or having my parents mad at me. I was, for the most part, Charlie Brown. I couldn’t really imagine why any son would act like the prodigal; that part of the story was a mystery to me. I understood, however, that the father in the story symbolized God, and that even if I did run off and do bad things, God would always be my father. He would never stop loving me, and it didn’t matter whether I was truly repentant or not; all that mattered was that I knew where my home was.

To some people, whether the prodigal really repented or not is of great importance. God will forgive you and welcome you back, but only if you’re really, sincerely sorry. Any attempt to scam God, and you’re out on your ear. You’ve got to really know that you’re a sinner, and that God by rights should be dangling you by your feet over the fires of Hell.  If you can manage to scrape together enough sincerity, God will turn back into the loving Father-God.

In truth, it doesn’t matter. Pay close attention to the father’s response — he doesn’t even listen to the prodigal’s speech! As soon as he sees his son, before he can even hear him, the father is running down the road to embrace and welcome his son home. It didn’t matter to the father why his son was coming home, only that he was within reach.

You see, the father never disowned the prodigal; the son may have wandered off, and he may have imagined that he was an orphan, but in reality he never lost his place in the family. We remain children of God by His love and grace, not ours.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 8:38,39 NIV)

Questions:

1. How have you viewed the son’s repentance? Have you ever considered whether the son was sincere or not?
2. Have you ever identified with the prodigal?  If so, how did you view God’s attitude toward you?