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I’ve mentioned before that one of my favorite hymns is Children of the Heavenly Father, by Karolina W. Sandell-Berg:

Children of the Heavenly Father
Safely in His bosom gather
Nestling bird nor star in heaven
Such a refuge e’er was given

This hymn—as it should—echoes a prevalent theme in the Gospels: Jesus (and Heaven) is for children. Sitting in the pew with all of the adults, in my clip-on tie and shiny black shoes, it was always reassuring to hear Jesus say things like, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them (Luke 18:16).”

The story goes like this: People were bringing their children to Jesus, so that he could bless them. However, the disciples, in their well-intentioned cluelessness, began turning them away. I understand this, I really do. Kids can certainly be a bother, especially when we’re being selfish. The disciples were doing nothing that many other adults have done.

From W.C. Fields’ famous “Go away kid, you bother me” to “children should be seen and not heard,” it’s easy for kids to get the notion that they are 2nd class citizens. The adults drink coffee and discus religion and politics, while the children make too much noise and need too much assistance. If we’re being truthful, we must admit that children are a lot of work and can be very distracting. I suspect that often, Sunday School programs are set up for this very reason—to keep children occupied elsewhere—not because there’s a true desire to teach them anything (if you’ve ever read through Sunday School curriculums, you’ll have to agree with me—there’s not a lot of real meat in there).

However, here’s Jesus, telling the disciples, “don’t you dare send these children away, for the Kingdom belongs to them.” Serious? The Kingdom of Heaven is for children? Furthermore, he says, that adults must become as children in order to even enter the Kingdom. Whoa! Jesus just turns the whole social order, as it involves children, upside-down.

Another story, found the three synoptic Gospels, tells of Jesus teaching about the Kingdom. He picks out a child from the crowd, and again says,

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened round his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea” (Matt. 18:1-6).

I get the idea that children don’t necessarily need to be converted; that is, they believe in Jesus easily, and they seem to a fast track into the Kingdom. It is the adults who need to be converted from their adult thinking and attitudes. Fancy doctrines and theology are fine; however, real theology appears to be one which says simply, “I believe in Jesus.”

The Kingdom belongs to such as these.

1. What did you believe as a child?  Why?
2. How does one who has “matured” become as a little child?

“In God We Trust.” In the United States, we all recognize this phrase, which appears on all of our money. Obviously, this is hardly the case as far as our nation goes—and for that matter, it’s not always easy for we who believe, either.

To a child, there are few things more important than trust. Because children are not self-sufficient, they must rely on others—typically, and preferably, families—for basic necessities like food, shelter and clothing, as well as love and companionship. It’s a terrible, terrible thing when children grow up without any or even some of these things. Unfortunately, this is common in many parts of the world, and is not that uncommon in our own country.

At some point, even children with good families learn that their parents are fallible, or at least not omnipotent. Parents cannot always provide everything a child wants or needs. They can’t walk the halls with them at school to protect them from bullies, and they can’t keep family pets from being run over by cars, no matter how much they would like to.

However, we have a friend who “sticks closer than a brother” (Prov. 18:24). This does not mean that God will always keep the bullies away, or ensure that pets live forever. However, while parents often don’t seem to understand the stresses of being a child, our “closer than a brother” God does understand, and is there to provide comfort, understanding, and healing.

There are unfortunate teachings prevalent today that leads some people to believe that God is there to make us healthy, happy and prosperous. This “Santa” notion of God is one of the worst things we can teach our children. The reality is that life is hard, but God is faithful.

When I was a child, most often sermons were taken from the Gospel readings of the day. I grew up listening to the words of Jesus, as he talked about God’s faithfulness. “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?” “Consider the lilies of the field.” And, more specifically, John 16:33, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

As a young boy I understood that it was not God’s plan for us to be trouble-free, but that God was there to see us through. After all, Jesus himself had to suffer. And, Jesus promised that God would send the Holy Spirit to be a comforter—not to make us comfortable.

Life on the prairies of Minnesota was hard; I often joke that where I grew up, pain and suffering was a way of life, not something to sue others for. The winters were grueling and often dangerous, with below zero temperatures, ice and snow. The summers contained their share of hardships as well. I learned how to drive a truck at age 12, and from then on, my summers were busy helping on the farm (before tractors had air-conditioned cabs).The news was full of the war in Vietnam. People I knew died from sickness and accidents. Crops were destroyed by hail. Typically, we were poor.

In all of this, we trusted in God. Not that this is anything to brag about; in fact, I think we trusted in God because we really didn’t have any alternatives. Yet in spite of these hardships, I believe I had a happy childhood. God proved faithful, whether we were in times of abundance or in need. While I didn’t always understand the reasons why (for that matter, I still don’t), I grew to understand that God could be trusted. In this world we will have tribulations, but we rejoice, knowing that Jesus has overcome the world. This is our hope.

1. What kind of God were you taught, a God who is there to make your life comfortable and keep us prosperous and healthy, or a God who comforts us during our times of need?
2. How does your view of God change how you approach life and deal with trials?

My grandfather’s favorite hymn was Children Of The Heavenly Father, a Swedish hymn by Karolina W. San­dell-Berg. The 1^st and 3^rd verses (translated into English by Ernst W. Ol­son in 1925) are:

Children of the Heavenly Father
Safely in His bosom gather
Nestling bird nor star in heaven
Such a refuge e’er was given

Neither life nor death shall ever
From the Lord His children sever
Unto them His grace He showeth
And their sorrows all He knoweth

While the English is forced at best, it’s one of my favorite hymns, too — though I doubt I’ve sung it since I was a child, perhaps at my grandfather’s funeral. Through six short verses, it emphasizes that “nothing shall separate us from the love of God.”

It perhaps goes without saying that the father in the story of the Prodigal Son represents God, who always welcomes back prodigals with joy. As a small child, it was always reassuring to hear that no matter how “prodigal” you may be, the Heavenly Father always loves us, and there’s always plenty of grace to go around. As an adult, it seems we still need to hear that. There are way too many elder brothers hanging around to tell us we aren’t deserving, and that there’s no place for us here. We are, in fact, surrounded by voices calling us to “more” — more holiness, more commitment, more striving — with the goal of spiritual “maturity.”

Very few voices echo the father’s invitation to his two sons to more grace: “Here’s some more money, here’s a fatted calf, let’s party!” Neither son deserved a party. Neither son really knew their father or understood his values. The point was, it was enough that the father loved his sons. That was the only motivation for the father’s extravagance.

The plain truth of the matter is that we really don’t deserve God’s grace. To think we have to somehow qualify for grace is to miss the point entirely. Martin Luther, in a letter to his friend Phillip Melanchthon, tried to explain this. Phillip was trying to find the limits of grace, trying to sift through the critical voices challenging him about what was permissible and what was sin. Luther wrote: “God does not save people who are only imaginary sinners. Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly.” In other words, live boldly, do not be afraid to make mistakes and fail. We will fail, at times. But know this: the Father’s grace is more than sufficient.

There is no such thing as the proverbial “fall from grace.” If grace is undeserved, as one definition puts it, then how can we possibly do anything more to “undeserve” it to the extent it is taken away? Likewise, we are not “restored to grace,” we are restored by grace. Grace is, from one perspective, God’s love in action. And — here’s a little math lesson — as God’s love and grace are infinite, so there is never any love or grace wasted. All of the money that the prodigal wasted did not diminish the father’s bank account whatsoever; an infinite amount minus anything is still an infinite amount.

This is what the elder son failed to grasp. He had become stingy with this father’s money — with God’s grace — because he failed to see that grace is never wasted, and the supply can never be diminished. Grace is not a finite resource. When you see God pouring his grace out on someone else, it doesn’t diminish what is available for you. Rather, it just illustrates how much grace is actually available for you!

This is how the father can give the prodigal a huge chunk of money, then give him access to the whole lot of it, and still say to the elder son, “All that I have was always yours. You could have thrown a party whenever you wanted, but you were too stingy. Come, now learn to celebrate.”

Jesus never tells us what the elder son decided, or what happened to him down the road. From the father’s comments to the elder son, we can learn one important lesson: We can’t take advantage or enjoy God’s grace unless we are willing to splurge a little. We need to learn the joy of extravagant grace, whether it’s spent on us, or on someone else.

Questions:

1. How does God’s extravagance make you feel?
2. How do you think someone can overcome the belief that grace is a finite resource?

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?

I recall rehearsing for my first Christmas pageant, though I don’t recall the pageant itself.  I don’t have any idea how old I was, but I was possibly three or four. All of us in my Sunday school class had speaking parts; that is, one line Bible verses. We simply were to take turns walking up to the microphone, saying our line, and walking back to our seats. I was naturally quite nervous, and I can recall sitting on my bed while my parents helped me to rehearse my line, over and over:

“God loved us and sent His son. First John, four ten.”

Obviously my practicing worked, as I still remember it.  The full version is this:

This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. (NIV)

This verse, coincidentally, makes a point that I made previously: It is not our emotions concerning God that is important so much as knowing the truth that God – not just Jesus, but God the Father – loves us. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not inappropriate to display or vocalize our emotions. However, our emotions are capricious; they change quicker than the weather in Oregon and are, therefore, a notoriously bad gauge of truth. The fact that we feel love for God tells us absolutely nothing – the fact that God loves us tells us everything.

Many people have the mistaken belief that Jesus is the “good God” who loves us and the Father is the stern, hard to please God who is just one sin away from zapping us. In truth, while knowing the Father and the Son are separate persons within the Trinity (more on this later), the purposes and emotions of Jesus and the Father cannot be separated. As Jesus so aptly put it, “The Father and I are one. (John 10:30)” Jesus also said, “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. (John 14:9)” We know what the Father is like by knowing Jesus. When we see Jesus reaching out to children, the poor, the sick, and the sinners, we see the true heart of the Father.

This means that the God of the Old Testament – the one who obliterated Sodom – is the same God who is revealed to us in Jesus. How can this be? The writer of Hebrews put it like this:

In the past God spoke to our forefathers through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom he made the universe. The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word. (Heb. 1:1-3a)

In the Old Testament, God was revealed through men. In the New, we finally see the “exact representation” of the God of the Old Testament. As the New Century Version puts it, Jesus “shows exactly what God is like.” If we know God’s love as expressed in Jesus, we can then begin to see that same God in the Old Testament. Really.

Putting it another way,  reading the Old Testament is like looking at God through a dirty, distorted piece of old glass. Seeing Jesus in the Gospels provided an unobstructed view of God as he really is, a God motivated by love, compassion and grace. If we are shown two photographs of the same person – one faded, dirty, and blurry, and the other in high resolution color – which one would best tell us what the person looks like? There may be some details in the faded photo that are missing in the good one, but first we’d see what the good photo shows us and then look for that person in the old photo. We should start with what is clear, and then use that to understand what is unclear.

What is clear about God is, as my first Bible memory verse said, “God loved us, and sent His son.”

Questions:

1. What is the first Bible verse that you memorized? At what age?
2. What has been your image of God, as expressed in the Old Testament?