Author: kirkallanlewis@yahoo.com

The Stable Boy

Background Passage: Luke 2:1-20
People flooded Bethlehem
in answer to the governor’s decree.
Returning to their home town to be taxed.
Travel made them…
irritable.
Taxation made them…
irate.Boisterous.
Belligerent.
Bellicose. Families poured into the
 City of David from all directions of the wind.
Swelling the population of the sleepy village,
well beyond its capacity.

 

Hospitality ruled.
Family and stranger
open home and business to the weary travelers.
Considerate.
Courteous.
Custom.

 A stable boy.
Ten-years old.
All too skinny.
Almost skeletal.
A brush with a Roman chariot as a young boy
left him with a shattered leg that never healed properly.
Twisted at an awkward angle.
Weak and wobbly,
each step aided by a walking stick.

The stable boy
dodged through familiar streets.
Picked his way back and forth
from the town’s only inn
to the stable inside the rocky cave,
behind the mud-bricked building.

He spent his day…
Lugging belongings
to the rooms inside.
Leading beasts of burden
to the stalls out back.
Lifting water jars
to fill the troughs.
Laying fresh hay in the mangers
To feed the livestock.

Seen, but unseen.
Speaking, but never heard.

Long after the sun set,
The stable boy blew out a slow breath.
A sigh heavy with fatigue.
He leaned down.
Picked up a wooden bucket,
Turned it over.
Sat wearily upon it.
Pulled his knees to his chest.
Laid his head on his arms
Fell instantly asleep.

His mind registered the sound
long before his eyes blinked open.
The echoing clip clop of a donkey’s hooves
trudging through the rocky street.

A young man walked out of the shadows.
Broad-shouldered.
Brawny.
The flow of his robe could not conceal that he was
powerfully built by years of hard work.
Physical vitality betrayed only by the
exhaustion in his eyes.

The man led his donkey by a loose halter.
Upon the donkey a young woman.
Pregnant.
Pained.
Spent.
Jostling back and forth with each
labored step of her animal.

The couple stopped at the door to the inn.
The man gently braced the woman
as she slid from the donkey’s back.
A kind smile and a quiet word
let her know they reached their destination.
She leaned against the donkey as
he stepped toward the front door.
With a crooked grin,
he placed a heavy hand on the
stable boy’s shoulder as he passed.
Squeezed it in a way that said,
“We made it,”
Walked inside without another word.

The stable boy stared at the woman.
He could not help himself.
Saw how young she was.
Could not imagine the difficulty of her journey.
Knew enough of the world to know…
she was ready to deliver her child.

She greeted the boy with a wave.
“Good evening.”
After the chaos of his day,
her words sounded like the melody of a meadowlark.
Wistful.
Welcoming.
Warm.

Before he could answer,
Her husband came out of the building
followed on his heels by the apologetic innkeeper
They spoke in whispered and urgent tones.
The stable boy listened to the muted conversation,
deliberately kept quiet and low to
avoid alarming the woman.

“Look at her,”
the man pleaded.
“She is due any day. I must find her a place to stay.
We’ve been everywhere else.
I can find no bed for her rest.”

“We have no room,”
said the man in sympathy,
all too aware of his unfulfilled responsibility as host.
 
The young man looked again at his wife.
Nodded his acceptance of a bad situation.
Shook the innkeeper’s hand.
Stepped toward his wife,
fatigue etched in his face and
his fallen shoulders
All too aware of his unfulfilled responsibility as husband.

“Wait,”
said the innkeeper.
The young man turned back,
a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Continue reading “The Stable Boy”

Orcas, Octonauts and Walruses

The list of things for which my grandsons are thankful circle the stem of their Thanksgiving pumpkin, spiraling down its side, one thought after another. As you read the list, you find what you would expect to find…Mommy, Daddy, family, boats, planes, doctors, tents, trains, specific toys and Ashley, the “kid-sitter…” because at four and two years of age, respectively, Eli and Josiah do not require a “baby-sitter.”

While most of their gratitude points to ordinary things that might appear on any child’s list, three things stand out…orcas, Octonauts and walruses. Intriguing sea creatures and a cartoon. I doubt any of those three would have made my prayer list.

Their Thanksgiving pumpkin, a family tradition designed to instill a sense of gratefulness to God for his many blessings, reminds me that I frequently take so much for granted. The innocence of children tends to see everything around them as a gift, worthy of the time it takes to say thank you to a God they are only beginning to understand.

As adults we grow jaded to the gifts around us. Preoccupied. Caught up in the chaos of our own choosing. Taking precious little time to think about the orcas, the Octonauts and the walruses. My grandchildren reminded me that the world is full of wonder and worthy of my gratitude.

I am thankful for all God has given me. That which I can touch and that which I can only feel. I have lived a charmed and blessed life, filled with people who love me and whom I love. I am blessed by God in the life He led me to and the life He has planned for me. I am grateful to God for every stroke of His hand that guided me through the choices I have made. I am thankful for the joy of experiencing what can be when you give your life to Him.

“Thankful,” a song written by David Foster and Carole Bayer Sager, and sung by Josh Grobin, speaks plainly to that point.

In preparation for Thanksgiving Day, I share with you the lyrics and the link to a beautiful song. Read the lyrics and listen as the song is sung.

Some days we forget
To look around us
Some days we can’t see
The joy that surrounds us
So caught up inside ourselves
We take when we should give.

So for tonight we pray for
What we know can be.
And on this day we hope for
What we still can’t see.
It’s up to us to be the change
And even though we all can still do more
There’s so much to be thankful for.

Look beyond ourselves
There’s so much sorrow
It’s way too late to say
I’ll cry tomorrow
Each of us must find our truth
It’s so long overdue

So for tonight we pray for
What we know can be
And every day we hope for
What we still can’t see
It’s up to us to be the change
And even though we all can still do more
There’s so much to be thankful for.

Even with our differences
There is a place we’re all connected
Each of us can find each other’s light

So for tonight we pray for
What we know can be
And on this day we hope for
What we still can’t see
It’s up to us to be the change
And even though this world needs so much more

There is so much to be thankful for.

As you celebrate Thanksgiving this week, express your gratitude for the orcas, Octonauts and the walruses. And remember, while the world needs so much of His grace, there is still “so much to be thankful for.”

Click on the link below to see the video.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yoygmylt2iM

Source: The Searcher

The Good Fight

Background Verses: Ephesians 6:12-18, 2 Timothy 4:7, 2 Timothy 2:2-3;

There is no question that the Christian faith is under attack across the world. Brutal persecution of Christians exists in regions of the world dominated by militant Islamic bullies. Often it feels as if too little is being done to protect those helpless, in a physical and political sense, to defend themselves.

While it in no way compares to the persecution Christians face from these extremists, it seems the Christian faith is being pushed into a corner by an American public policy that places parameters on personal and corporate worship, by the nation’s legal system that has broadened the court’s reach into matters of faith and heart and media’s penchant for encouraging controversy for controversy sake.

Yet, I wonder at times if the real and perceived erosion of religious liberty is not also an outgrowth to our strident and un-Christlike reaction to the current political and social climate. Extremist reactions from both sides of the debate drive a wedge between us, forcing us to choose sides in a battle that no one wins.

Scripture tells us in Ephesians 6: 12-18 we will face a battle against all things that run counter to the teachings of Christ. Paul encourages us to “take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day.” In the battle we must wrap ourselves in truth, righteousness, readiness to proclaim the gospel of peace, shielded by faith, equipped with the Spirit and Word of God.

If we face a continual battle, then it is not a question of whether we fight, but how we fight. Do we fight fire with fire and retaliate with the same negative name-calling directed against us, or do we, as Paul decalred in 2 Timothy 4:7, “fight the good fight” by keeping the faith and “enduring the hardship as a good soldier of Christ” (2 Timothy 2:3).

The battle we wage as Christians must look different that the war waged by the world. Look at Ephesians 4:31-5:2.

“Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Be imitators of God…and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us…”

A recent Facebook recently shared a video produced by The Piano Guys. It was a beautiful instrumental mix of Fight Song by Dave Bassett and Rachel Platten and Amazing Grace.

I doubt the lyrics of Fight Song were never intended to teach spiritual truth. Yet, the context of the song teaches that a small action on our part can create a great movement. That a single word can change a heart. That one spark can cause an explosion. The power we hold in our hands and hearts is not in the strident screaming of outrage at a world that pushes against what we believe and hold dear. The power comes when we let go of the rage and live a life of love.

A life of love is not a passive acceptance of the world’s antipathy, but an active fight…a good fight. As such, the chorus to Platten’s song speaks to the depth of commitment to engage in that good fight.

My power’s turned on.
Starting right now I’ll be strong.
I’ll play my fight song.
And I don’t really care if nobody else believes, I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me.

Therein is where the musical mix created by The Piano Guys resonates. The power turned on within us derives from the presence of the Spirit of God in our lives. Amazing Grace is our fight song. We win this battle, not with aggressive animosity toward those who do not understand, but by proclaiming the amazing grace of God that is the world’s unclaimed gift.

Listen to the music. I hope it rekindles the fight within you.

It is a good fight.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOO5qRjVFLw 

Source: The Searcher

Religion Is Not Enough

Background Verses: Acts 17:16-34

 

Paul stood alone.
Deep in the center of the Athenian Agora.

Oblivious, it seemed, to the bustling crowd,

busy commerce,

and boisterous conversations.

Lips formed his words,

yet he uttered no sound.

Stunned by the

sights and sounds

of sinful ignorance.

 

He stretched out his arms.

Slowly turned full circle.

Intelligent eyes taking his surroundings.

Everywhere he looked,

Every direction he faced,

Glistening granite.

Chiseled marble.

Gilded stone.

Testimony to human confusion and idolatry.

 

Idol after idol.

Apollo.

Ares.

Demeter

Dionysus.

Gods of the people who worshipped…

Music and healing.

War and chaos.

Fertility and harvest.

Wine and pleasure.

 

Hera.

Harmonia.

Nemesis.

Zelos.

Gods and goddesses of…

Women and empires.

Harmony and peace.

Revenge and hatred.

Jealousy and rivalry.

 

He threaded his way through the crowd.

Listened to the debates and arguments

of Athens’ fabled philosophers.

Learned men.

Fumbling with matters of man’s

life,

purpose and

existence.

 

For several days

Paul walked the marketplace.

Engaged at times in quiet

and lively debate with

Epicurean and Stoic philosophers.

Paul parried their intellectual thrusts.

Countered with his personal beliefs.

Sought to understand the…

Epicureans.

Their “eat, drink and be merry” constructs

that ignored their personal responsibilities.

 

Sought to know the…

Stoics.

Their deliberate disdain for life and

unending and unjoyful quest for life on a higher plain.

 

Paul’s introduction of a loving God,

a resurrected Lord,

fell upon curious, but deaf ears.

 

Despite their general apathy,

the philosophers lived for and loved a good debate.

Liked nothing more than to spend

time talking and listening to the latest ideas.

Invited Paul to voice his strange philosophy to the Areopagus,

The council of the most learned in Athens.

Tomorrow morning.

On a hill in the shadow of the Acropolis.

 

Paul walked the remainder of the day

considering the challenge before him.

Constantly in prayer for words to share.

How could he convince them of the God he adored?

The God he worshipped?

 

Head bent.

Focused only on his thoughts.

Paul’s elbow caught the edge of another stone monument,

forcing his attention to his right.

As he rubbed his arm to soothe the discomfort,

he stood face to face with

another idol.

Another altar.

 

He looked at the whitewashed image.

Carved from stone.

The half-nude body of a man.

Chest bare.

Poised and powerful.

Cloth draped across its left shoulder,

tied around its waist.

Face framed by a laurel wreath.

Void of expression.

Featureless.

Paul’s eyes drifted down to the inscription.

Chuckled at the irony.

Marveled at God’s inspiration.

Chiseled into the base of the statue…

“TO THE UNKNOWN GOD.”

 

Offering a quiet prayer to Jehovah.

Paul hurried back to his home for the night.

Gathering his thoughts.

 

*

Early the next morning,

Paul sat quietly on the boulder.

Gazing east.

The rising sun casting a reddish glow onto the low clouds.

The philosophers arrived alone and in small groups.

Eager to begin another day

searching for understanding and knowledge.

Their sole reason for breathing.

 

After a time,

One of the men whom Paul debated yesterday,

held out his hands.

Gathering the attention and eyes of every man.

With an air of derision and scorn,

he pointed at Paul.

“This stranger among us comes at my invitation.

His babblings in the Agora amused me.

While I find his philosophy little more than the chirping of a bird, others…”

he paused, glaring intently at a group of

more open-minded men sitting to his left…

“others, found his argument a ‘herald of some  new divination.’

So, my friend,” said the philosopher,

“tell us about this new thought you bring for it is strange to us.”

*

Paul stood slowly.

Walked toward the edge of the mountain

Looked down on the Agora.

The streets below.

Stretched out his arm over the city beneath him.

Stared down at the Altar of Apollo,

clearly visible in the distant marketplace.

 

Voice clear.

Laced with authority.

Paul declared,

“Men of Athens.”

“I see that in every way you are very religious.

For as I walked around.

Looked carefully at your objects of worship.

I saw many altars to many gods.

I even found an altar with this inscription,

‘TO AN UNKNOWN GOD.’”

Paul turned.

Faced the philosophers seated around the Areopagus.

A smile on his face.

A gleam in his eye.

“What you worship as something unknown…

I am going to proclaim to you.”

 

With an eloquence of speech

And the voice emboldened by the Holy Spirit,

Paul proclaimed the good news of Jesus Christ

and his resurrection.

 

*

 

Paul preached the

plan and purpose of God

Summarized in seven short verses

in Acts 17:24-31.

 

God created.

God rules.

God gives life.

 

A life of purpose given so…

man could seek him.

Reach out for  him.

Find him.

Not distant on the mythical mountaintop.

Not hidden in the clouds of Olympus.

Not crafted by human hands.

Not an image reflecting our failures and weaknesses.

 

Rather, we find him

in the warmth of personal relationship.

We belong to him.

 

He is unique.

The One.

The Only.

 

He calls us to repentance.

Demands our obedience.

Desires our worship.

 

Paul looked at the world around him

Made a simple observation.

“I see that in every way you are very religious.”

 

If he stood on the hill overlooking

our city…

Our lives…

Our hearts…

How many altars could he count dedicated to the

Gods of our own choosing?

How many gods have I created in my image?

How many things have I placed in priority

over my Lord?

 

Religion…

Goes through the motions.

Plays for appearance.

Creates a false sense of belonging.

 

Faith focuses our lives, not on what is

unknown or unreal,

but on the

One and Only

that is known to us…

 

Creator.

Lord.

Indwelling Spirit.

Comforter.

Redeemer.

Restorer of Life Abundant.

 Source: The Searcher

A Unsung Prayer Warrior

Background Verses: Colossians 1:7-8 and 4:12-13

All of us struggle with weighty decisions from time to time. Those issues that tend to keep you awake at night. Whether matters of the heart, matters of health or matters of the soul, we find comfort when we know there are friends and family praying for us. I cannot tell you how many times in my life I have found an element of peace after being told by a friend that they have lifted me up in prayer.

Last night I found myself reading through Colossians within that frame of reference. Here is a first-century church, a group of people from diverse backgrounds, Greek and Jew, master and slave, rich and poor, gathering regularly in someone’s home to hear the gospel proclaimed and to be taught how they should live as followers of Christ in a world that follows a very different moral compass…a church struggling to stay on the right path when those among them are preaching and teaching a tarnished truth blending convenient portions of pagan, Jewish and Christian teaching into a hybrid belief system lacking substance.

Yet, there are good people in the church, trying desperately to hang on to what they have been taught and what they believe. They’re hanging on while their faithful pastor Epaphras serves in Rome offering love and support to an imprisoned Paul, Christianity’s foremost missionary.

Imagine the Christians in Colossae, gathering quickly at a friend’s home. They’ve just been told that Tychius and Mark, two men well-known in the region for their association with Paul and their pastor, have arrived in town bearing a letter from Paul. Men and women of faith gathering in anticipation.

Erastus ducked his head through the door,

out of breath from his dash across town.

Eyes darted from face to face,

Slapping a back in greeting.

Clasping hands with those

not seen since they last gathered for worship.

Many others already sat in boisterous conversation

around the walls of the tidy villa.

Permeating the room was an air of

Energy.

Excitement.

Expectation.

Across the crowded room,

quietly visiting with the man of the house…

Two men he had never met.

Known only by reputation.

Associates of

The Missionary.

Though they looked tired from their journey,

they laughed easily.

Comfortable in their companionship .

Bound together

with those in the room by the

fellowship of faith.

Introductions are made.

Greetings exchanged.

Tychicus,

the elder of the two men took a step back,

yielding to Mark,

 the younger of the two messengers.

Erastus liked him immediately.

No haughtiness.

No pretense.

A calm tone and quiet voice.

A warm smile that spoke volumes

and revealed his heart.

“I have a letter from Paul,” he said,

“and a word from your pastor.”

Mark began to read.

“We always thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,

when we pray for you because

we have heard of your faith in Christ Jesus…

the love you have for all God’s people–

the faith and love that springs from the hope stored up for you in heaven…

The gospel is bearing fruit and growing throughout the whole world–

just as it has been doing among you

since the day you heard it and truly understood God’s grace.

You learned it from Epaphras,

our dear fellow servant,

who is a faithful minister of Christ on our behalf,

and who also told us of your love in the Spirit.”

Erastus felt…

Edification.

Encouragement.

Erastus heard…

Warnings about the false doctrines that

wage war against their souls.

Words that inspired him to stand fast.

Hold true to what he had been taught.

 I have to believe Paul’s message met its intended purpose. False teachers had peppered them for months with a new doctrine that sounded right, but felt terribly wrong. Yet, the boldness of their arguments tempted them to abandon what they had been taught by their beloved pastor.

Those individuals who listened to the words read to them by Mark had to find reinforcement and reassurance in their fledgling faith.

Yet, as powerful as Paul’s words might have been, I can’t help but feel there was an unsung hero buried in the text of Paul’s letter. A name that captured their attention and strengthened their resolve by the simply sound of his name and the reminder of his love for them.

 The tone of Mark’s voice changed.

Clearly, the letter was drawing to a close.

Erastus had been lost in thought,

Staring at the floor.

His mind hearing,

but not locking on to the closing words

until the sound of a familiar name

jolted him from this thoughts.

“Epaphras, who is one of you and

a servant of Christ Jesus,

sends greetings.”

The men seated around him,

looked at each other and grinned.

The salutation was like balm on a sunburned back.

“Epahpras is always wrestling in prayer…

for you…

praying that you will stand firm in all the will of God,

mature and fully assured.

He is working hard for you.”

Erastus squared his shoulders.

Leaned back against the wall.

Closed his eyes.

Prayed for the kind of strength for which his pastor prayed.

Faith’s great turning point in his life.

Epaphras was a man of faith who loved his congregation. He saw them not simply as sheep to feed, but friends to love. A man who felt the burden of responsibility to develop their immature belief into a deep abiding faith that sustains. So, every day…every day…he lifted them up to the Father. Notice the words Paul used. “Always wrestling in prayer.” He never failed to remember his people in Colossae. The prayer was never casual, but deep and heartfelt.  Praying as if God might not hear unless his prayer sprung from his gut…fearful that if he did not intercede, God would not know how desperate their situation might be. Incessant. Insistent. Impassioned.

Not only did he pray frequently and deeply, but his prayer was specific. Not given to pious platitudes. The prayers were pointed…that they might “stand firm in all the will of God.” Continuing in their belief, finding in Him righteousness as a model for life; finding in Him strength as a mechanism to cope with any disinformation they might hear. Asking that they be…unwavering in their faith and their understanding of God’s grace and what he desires of them. That their faith might discern his perfect wisdom and desire for their lives. Instilling in them…the truth of what they believe and how that belief is translated into practice. Inspiring them to…demonstrate the courage of their conviction even in the midst of abuse and persecution.

I find value in the life of Epaphras, this unsung bible hero, who cared so deeply for the spiritual security of his friends and neighbors that his spirit groaned in passionate petition for his people. May I be blessed with that kind of prayer warrior lifting me up as I deal with life that God has laid before me. May I be that kind of prayer warrior for those I love and those I serve.

Source: The Searcher

The Obstinate Brother

Background Verses: Luke 15:11-32

Let’s pick up where we left off last time with our study of Jesus’ poignant parable known as “The Prodigal Son.” Jesus shared his message of God’s grace and his redemptive purpose because the religious leaders of his day groused and complained that Jesus spent his time with “tax collectors and sinners.” This detailed parable shared his response, illustrating how God delights in the return of those who have lost their way.

The story and its message didn’t end at the surface. It wasn’t enough to remind the Pharisees of God’s patience and compassion. They needed to be reminded of their own skewed vision of God’s kingdom.

I’m not sure who said it or where I heard it, but someone once remarked that the parable of “The Prodigal Son” had to have received its name from the older brother. The title itself is an accusation, pointing self-righteous fingers at the wanton behavior of the lost. As such, it points out the very heart of those to whom its message was intended…the Pharisees. Drag the intent into the 21st century and we find a message for the church that spews judgment toward the lost in such a manner that it deprives them of the joy God wants them to experience within the fellowship of believers.

Certainly, the story Jesus told condemned the sin of the younger brother. His actions stood as a testimony to the selfishness in our hearts that delights in taking our own path of self-discovery and self-gratification, regardless of who we hurt or disrespect along the way. Lest anyone miss the point of His message, Jesus exposed the self-righteousness of the Pharisees and religious leaders who never seemed to understand that Jesus came to “seek and save that which was lost.” Never able to join in the celebration when the lost sheep, coin or son were found.

Let’s take a peak between the lines at the reaction Jesus described.

He watched absentmindedly.
Reacted on muscle memory.
Driving the small herd of sheep from
pasture to pen.
Shuffling right or left.
Holding out his staff,
with mind-numbing repetition.
Keeping the skittish herd moving down the path.
Returning home at the end of another day.

With constant resentment
simmering beneath the surface
and nothing else to distract his heart,
the man muttered another in a string of curses
directed at his brother for abandoning the family
to pursue his own selfishness.

He spat upon the ground,
recalling how his father would stare down the road his brother traveled,
pining for months for his return.
Why his father had not washed his
brother’s memory from his heart was beyond him.
He had hurt too many people.
Disrepected every tradition.
“Good riddance,”
he breathed for what must have been the 1,000th time.

A distant sound broke through his
personal pity party.
Turned his ear to the wind.
The intermittent sound of a flute so out of place in the pasture
Became less intermittent with each step.
More fluid and melodious
as he topped the crest of the hill.
Sounds of laughter.
Shouts of delight.

The man took off running toward his home…
the source of the revelry,
scattering the sheep and leaving them unattended in the field.

Burst through the gate,
knocking a tray of food from the hands of a servant.
Without apology, he grabbed the young girl’s arm.
“What’s going on? Tell me.”

She looked at him, smile beaming from her face.
“It’s your brother! He’s come home!
Come on in and see.”
Gathering up the tray and rushing toward the door, she called,
“You should see your Father.
I’ve never seen him so happy.”
 
As he watched her open the door to HIS house,
The noise of celebration echoed in the courtyard.
His mind reeled.
Stunned.
Seething.
Shattered.

His feet were as unmoved as his heart.
Unable to bring himself to join the celebration.
Resentful of his brother.
Angry with his Father.
Bitter at his circumstance.

His father opened the door.
Rushed to his side.
Hugging his elder son…
an embrace that was not returned.
With his hand resting on the neck of his son,
eyes glistening with tears, the father said,
“Come. Celebrate.
For your brother who was lost has returned.”

The son pushed him away,
anger burning brighter than the sun.
Hurt and disappointment
evident in every expression.
“I’ve slaved for you…”
“Never disobeyed…”
“You’ve never thrown a party for me…”
“You’re celebrating for
this…this…son of yours who squandered and sinned…”
“What about me?”

 Scripture records Jesus’ words in response to the older brother’s tirade in Luke 15:31-32, “My son, you are always with me and everything I have is yours. Be we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

How fortunate that the younger brother was met first by the father and not by his older sibling…who would have turned him away and sent him back into the far country. The older brother lost nothing of his inheritance upon the return of the brother. The Father said, “All if have is yours.” His inheritance remained intact. Instead, he urged him to celebrate the return of “this brother of yours” who was “dead and is now alive, lost and is found.”

I picture Jesus finishing that last statement of his parable, looking into the eyes of the Phraisees who challenged his work among sinners. In this phrase Jesus was making yet another appeal to the blinded religious leaders to open their hearts to what God was doing for those who were lost right in front of their eyes. To the Pharisees, Jesus consorted with “this son of yours” when Jesus wanted them to see these same individuals as “this brother of yours.”

For the religious leaders it was more about the show and less about the substance. Their lack of love toward the lost prevented them from offering an alternative path of faith. In their eyes, the sinners were neither religious nor respectable enough to hear the word of God. Yet, Jesus taught that the show of religion and the pretense of respectability is no substitute for redemption.

As people of faith, we miss our chance to be redemptive when the language we use condemns the sinner and not just the sin. Jesus knew those with whom he shared his time were lost, living lives outside the will of God.  He chose to build relationships and connections with the sinners of the world so they could embrace the salvation he offered. He never put them down. Never called them names. Never suggested they were unworthy of receiving God’s grace.

Yet, that’s exactly the message that the words and behavior of some Christians convey through ugly and malicious messages on Facebook or mainstream media. We must take greater care in the words we use and the message we convey as we speak words of truth to a lost world.

Jesus began his parable as a way of celebrating the redemptive work of God among a world in desperate need of his grace. He concluded the parable with a stern warning to all of us our faith must be more than a show of religion and our lives more than a pretense of respectability.

Think how much better it would be if we worked alongside the father, one eye on the labor and one eye on the road traveled by our lost brother. Praying for the return of the lost to the Father’s loving embrace and joining in the heavenly celebration when our brother returns.

 

Source: The Searcher

A Father's Grace

Background Verses: Luke 15:11-32


My four-year-old grandson spent the night with us last week. Wired to the max, Eli just wouldn’t go to sleep. Every two minutes he was up out of bed. Every two minutes I would scold him from downstairs and urge him to get back in bed. About 11:00 p.m., I threatened to come upstairs to deal with things. I heard him jump back in bed and in a voice I don’t think he intended me to hear, he said, “Stay where you are, Grandpa. Stop worrying about me.” I’m not sure if I was being scolded or reassured, but I know I laughed…long and hard.

His comment made me think of a biblical son who once said much the same thing to his father in a much more serious situation. The story of the prodigal son lives vividly in my memory since I first heard it. The rebellious son, tired of the routine at home, perceiving his father’s guidance as meddling in his business, demands his inheritance in a desire to live life on his own. In his own way. His free will choice. In Jewish culture of the day, his demand was horrifically insulting, casting his father aside as if he no longer existed. Treating him as if he were dead.

The father saddened by the decision, hurt by the demand, nevertheless, divides his resources and gives to the younger son all that he is due. The young man, we will call him Joseph, leaves his home for the wild life of the city, in a short time squandering all he had been given in a life of decadence and sin.

In a freakish coincidence, at the same time he spends his last dime, a famine hits. Life becomes hard for the young man, finding himself abandoned by the friendships he had bought. Destitute and in in desperate need.  Joseph finds the only job available to him…slopping hogs for a mean-spirited farmer in a foreign land. Hungry and alone, Joseph is tempted to eat the table scraps he’s feeding to the hogs. Tears roll down his face, horrified at the turn life has taken. Joseph realizes his father’s servants fare better. Tossing the last of the garbage to the sow and her litter, the young man sets out for home, practicing a speech borne by hunger both physical and spiritual…full of regret and repentance.

It is a story to which most of us can relate as we think of those times we chose to go our own way, seduce by the glamour and glitz of the world. We tell God in no uncertain terms, “Stay where you are. Stop worrying about me.” Before we make that choice, it makes sense to give some thought to the father in our story. I suspect it went something like this.

 

The routine.

Repeated every day since Joseph left.

The father.

Rises early each morning.

Climbs the stairs to the roof of his home.

Turns toward the morning sun,

offering a prayer for his son’s safe return.


Day after day.

He labors.

One eye on his work.

One eye on the road his son had taken.

Work stops with every

shadowed figure emerging from the distant haze.

Heart beating through his chest as he prays

this distant traveler is his returning son.

The father watches until he discerns the inevitable.

The traveler’s posture and gait…

unfamiliar and unknown.

The knot in his stomach…

Tight with tension.

Thus ends another day…

longing for his son’s embrace.

Day after day.


Until this day…

The father stood in the middle of the field,

watching the small swirl of dust rising in the distance.

Hope again rises in his heart as it always does.

Compassion overflows with the recognition.

The step of the traveler is

fatigued, but familiar.

 The father pulls the hem of his garment above his knees,

dashing quickly down the road.

Eyes never straying from the approaching figure.

Calling out his son’s name in sheer joy.

Joseph!

My Joseph!

The father’s arms encircle the young man’s waist,

hoisting him off the ground.

He spins twice with Joseph in his arms,

not quite believing he has returned.

The father sets him down at last,

holding him at arms-length.

A grin as wide as the Jordan Valley on his face.

 

Joseph stunned at his father’s welcome,

drops his eyes and falls to his knees.

Begins his practiced speech.

“Father, I have sinned…”

“…no longer worthy of being your son…”

  Expecting rebuke

He experienced grace.

  The father wrapped his strong arms around his boy,

lifting him to his feet.

He turns to the servants just now catching up after the father’s mad dash.

In a voice choked with emotion he tells them,

“Bring his robe.

His ring.

His best pair of shoes.

Dress him as my son.

Prepare a barbecue feast.

Invite the whole village.

Let’s celebrate.

My son who was lost has been found.”

 

In one of his most powerful parables, Jesus defined sin with crystal clarity.  How often have we looked at the world around us, enticed by its “eat, drink and be merry—live for today” philosophy, insisting upon our inheritance, our piece of the pie? How often have we looked at the Bible and its teachings and decided it lacks relevance to life, situation or need? How often have we demanded of the Father, “It my life, my inheritance. I desire to live life on my own.  In my own way. My free will choice. You don’t worry about me!” How hurtful that must be to the Father when our choice is tantamount to saying, “I want you out of my life. You are dead to me?” There’s no other way to sugarcoat it. That’s what sin is. Running away from the Father to pursue our own brand of selfishness.

Here’s the thing. Those who heard Jesus speak that parable would clearly understand that the father would have been in his right to disown the son. To send him from his home, penniless, with nothing. Just for making the demand. Banished from the love of the father and the security of his home. Yet, the father reacts unexpectedly. Heartbroken at his son’s decision…most certainly. Fearful of the dangers his son would face…without a doubt. Painfully aware the son would surely fail on his own… no question. Yet, he let him go. Just as the father in our story, God in heaven yields to our free will, feeling the heartbreak, fear and understanding that the path we have chosen leads to ruin.

By its very definition, to be prodigal is to be wasteful. When we walk out on God, we are wasting our potential, our promise and our purpose, tossing those things aside as if they were scrapes to feed the hogs. Yet, while we’re away living life our way, the Father remains at home, one eye on His labor, one eye on the road we’ve taken, praying that we will come to our senses, longing for our safe return. Too often, we have to be sitting in the muck of a pig sty, Hungry for that which sustains us, before we realize how wonderful it was to rest in the bosom of our Father.

There is one more act of significance buried in the story…one that may be less familiar to us than to those who listened as Jesus taught. The village had a shared responsibility to protect the father from further embarrassment. Had the young man entered the village, even to return to the father, it would have been their responsibility to send him away, to protect the father from the humiliation of the son’s return. They would never get that chance because the father took the first steps. You see, in the culture of the day, running was an undignified act for a man. It just wasn’t done. To run, the man would need to life his robe, exposing his undergarments. An act of humiliation. The father, beyond caring or concern of what he must look like, was more than willing to suffer humiliation to welcome home his lost son.

Was it not God Incarnate who allowed himself to be nailed on a cross in ultimate humiliation to offer salvation to a lost world. Is this not God’s way? When we return home with a repentant heart, ashamed of the life we have lived. Afraid of what the future holds. He meets us along our path and draws us into his arms. He never gives up on us even when the world around us does. No rebuke. No recriminations. No accepting the son’s remorse and assigning him less than his place in his father’s house. His embrace said it all…Welcome home. Wear the clothes of my son. Eat at the family table. Worthy of celebration.

As I told my grandson, Eli, after I stopped laughing and entered his room. “I have to worry about you. I love you.” I think God tells us the same.” I will watch, wait and worry for you until the day you return simply because I love you.

As the song reminds us, “Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but know I’m found. Was blind but now I see.”

 

 

 



Source: The Searcher

No More Worries

(Background Verses: Luke 12:1-36)


If you read enough about former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, you’ll discover a unique spirit, one who marched to the beat of his own drum, one who freely said what he felt needed to be said. His own country had an interesting “love/hate” relationship with the man who led them through the trials and troubles of World War II.  

His speeches fascinate me with his choice of words; the way he told a good story. As leader of his country during the war, one would assume he had more than his share of worries. Yet, when asked how he dealt with the anxiety of his day, he said, “When I look back on all the worries I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which never happened.”  

We tend to worry about things that never happen…a mixture of human nature and human sin. Our inability to let go of that which we dread, not fully trusting that if we respond to His will, He will guide our steps.  

The Gospel of Luke tells us about a man who came to Jesus deeply worried about financial security; his lot in life. We don’t know his name. We don’t know his circumstance. What we know of the man must be inferred from what he asked of the Teacher (Luke 12:13). So much seems wrong in his heart.  

What drives someone into a crowd of thousands (Luke 12:1), pushing his way through the unruly throng until he stands face to face with the popular Teacher?  

The young man shoved his way

through the crowd of thousands.

Bitterness drove him forward.

Impatient with the masses, he

brushed aside an elderly couple,

stepping through the gap.

Found himself face to face with the popular Teacher.

 

Jesus looked in surprise as the man

stepped in front of him.

Furrowed his eyebrows at his impatience.

Sensed his anxiety,

Smiled a smile to ease the man’s discomfort.

 

Heart pounding.

Breath labored.

Face flushing.

His well-rehearsed speech forgotten.

The young man squared his shoulders.

Blurted out his question

laced with all venom

coursing through his veins.
 

Agonizing over his future.

Angry at his brother.

Anxious about his life.

 

“Rabbi,” he spat.

“Tell my brother to split the

inheritance with me.”

   

Not an unreasonable request in today’s legal world. Pleading for an even split among heirs. In his day, however, a double portion of the inheritance went to the eldest son to provide the resources he needed to become the head of the extended family. It was the way of the world. Imagine the heated discussions between brothers within days of their father’s death. The elder now financially secure. The younger burdened by debt, demands and expectations.  Isn’t it funny how anxiety creates demons where no demon exists? The mental image of his future that he allowed to dominate his thoughts grew desperate and despairing.  

Resentment brought him to Jesus…not to change his own heart, but to change his brother’s. When Jesus recused himself as judge and arbiter in his situation, the man thrust his hands in the pockets of his robe and huffed away, deeply troubled about what tomorrow would bring.  

On its surface, greed seemed the trigger. He coveted what another possessed. When he could not cajole, beg, insist or argue his way into financial security, the sought a judgment against his brother to force the issue. Jesus sensed enough avarice in the young man to issue a warning to the crowd against the danger of putting one’s trust in material possessions. Saying in essence, “You can build a bigger barn to secure your wealth, but you can’t take it with you.”  

I think Jesus thought about that young man throughout the day. That He made on connection with the man disturbed the Savior.  The scene played out repeated in his thoughts. Pictured him asking his question. Saw the flash anger in his eyes at the mention of his brother. Recalled how the man puffed his cheeks in response to Jesus’ answer. Remembered how he shove his way back through the crowd until he was lost from sight. Jesus’ heart broke with every man, woman or child who turned from his message.  

Jesus sensed more than simple greed infecting the man’s life. Jesus recognized a deeper affliction. The man was drowning in waves of worry. This deep anxiety that ate away at the man’s happiness disturbed Jesus at the profoundest level. Turning to his disciples, those who followed him most closely, Jesus shared these words in Luke 12:22-26.  

“I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food and the body more than clothes.” He pointed into the nearby field where ravens plucked the ground in search of worms and insects. “Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. How much more valuable you are than the birds! Who among you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this little thing, why do you worry about the rest?”  

His words resonate with me. I’m months away from an announced retirement. While it brings a degree of uncertainty, I choose not to worry about what the future holds. I think back on my life, the choices I made, the chances I took. The lean financial years. Starting a family. Raising my sons. The work I performed. All the mistakes in life I’ve made. I think of the days and nights of anxiety and worry about things beyond my control. I’ve learned one irrefutable fact. Worry changed nothing. Like the old man in Churchill’s story, I worried most deeply about things that never happened.  

For Christians, worry rises as a barrier between us and God, making our fears seem more real than the God who cares for us, in effect, dethroning him as Lord of our lives. So, how do we keep from falling into the trap of anxiety and fear? Jesus gave us the hint in the latter part of Chapter 12. Here’s how I picture it.

 

The campfire smoldered.

Knocking the chill from the evening air.

Jesus and his disciples sat around the fire.

Content in fellowship.

Comfortable in conversation.

 

They talked easily of the day’s activity.

Jesus tossed a small twig into the fire.

Watched the flame envelop it.

Deep in thought.

He spoke quietly to everyone and no one.

More thought than thesis.

“I can’t stop thinking about the young man

who wanted me to pass judgment about his inheritance.”

 

Thomas said,

“He was too greedy.

He had no right to ask what he…”

 

Jesus stopped him mid-sentence.

“No, Thomas. It was more than that.

You could see it in his eyes.

The tenseness of his shoulders.

His worry consumed him.”

 

With familiar compassion,

Jesus used the moment to teach.

Imparting another life lesson.

To his disciples.

To us.

 

“Do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink;

do not worry about it.

For the world runs after all such things and

your Father knows you need them.

Instead, seek his kingdom and

these things will be given to you as well.

For where your treasure is,

there your heart will be also.”



Source: The Searcher