What Do I Know About God?
Sermon
THE POWER OF DARKNESS
SERMONS FOR LENT AND EASTER (SUNDAYS IN ORDINARY TIME)
A young man had recently been ordained. Shortly after this notable event, he dressed himself with loving care. There was the new, dark, grey suit, the color-coordinated clergy shirt and the well-polished shoes. As he looked at himself in the mirror, the effect was pleasing. Feeling good about himself, he walked out into the streets of his city. He found himself in a somewhat blighted section of town, hands in his pockets, wondering what to do next. All the time he was being watched by a drunk, who seemed unimpressed. Their eyes met and the drunk said, "Sonny, what do you know about God?" The young parson made no reply. He went back to his room, took off his clerical garb and pondered the question, "What do I know about God?"
The story is ancient and probably the victim of some embellishment, but the question it raises is genuine and timely. "What do I know about God?"
For me, the familiar and popular story of the Prodigal Son contains the best picture in all the Bible of what God is like. It is one of three parables (Luke 15), all of which dealing with the same concern. It is a concern for the lost - a lost coin, a lost sheep and a lost son. These stories came about because some of the respectable people of that time were quite critical of the bad company Jesus was keeping. Jesus, by eating with sinners, crossed the line that social custom had carefully drawn. Jesus said, "Rejoice with me." They said, "This man receives sinners." Their reaction points up the wisdom of the little girl who prayed, "God make all bad people good and all good people nice."
Jesus responds with a memorable story: A father who had two sons ... You remember the story. Remember how the younger son wanted to get away from the farm (and probably from his older brother)? His father, wanting a son and not a hired hand, let him go. For a while it probably went well for the young son, but the time came when he ran out of money and could no longer "fish in Bedigo Creek and drink the cold frosty ones!" He ended up on a farm feeding the hogs. Someone had said that it is a law of life, "that when we do as we please, we are seldom pleased with what we do." In any circle, but especially in Jewish circles, the pig pen is a powerful symbol of unfreedom. But it is here where this young person comes to his senses. I suspect it was the push of the hog yard as well as the pull of the father's house that created within him the spirit of repentance.
It makes for a very uncomfortable moment when we are finally honest with self and quit the game of pretending, but it is also a great moment. We are talking about a changed heart, a new direction: and that is what happened to this youngest son. And it looks like a genuine turnaround! There is no hint that he is going to take pride in the fact that he left home and go on TV and tell and retell how awful it was living with those hogs!
None of this. He heads for home and the stage is set for the shattering confrontation. There comes the unbelievable surprise of this story! We expect some kind of punishment. Instead we are told, "but while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him." (v. 20) The word for "ran" is a technical one used for a footrace in a stadium. The father didn't just amble toward his son, he raced toward him. It's an unforgettable picture - racing down the road, robe lifted high so as not to stumble, so he can hug his wayward son. Love replaces dignity.
Some years ago, I received a "modern" understanding of this beautiful homecoming. It is in the form of a letter from a son to his father:'
Dear Dad:
I found your letter to me here on the desk. Perhaps you didn 't want me to read it, now that I have come back home. But I'm glad I did. I thank you for your patience - for your understanding and love - for your mercy and forgiveness. I thank you also for the wonderful celebration on my return.
But Father - it was not the best robe clinging about my starven frame; Father - it was not the ring; Nor yet the shoes, nor anything Your kind, fleet-footed servant brought; Father - 'twas the thought That you, from your safe righteousness, could run To your unworthy son.
Father - not the dancing nor the singing, The feast, nor those who came, Showed me your secret, and in part Your long sight and your anguished heart. Your friends and neighbors reverencing
Your ways, might marvel at the thing - But I - my Father - I, your son, A great way from you, saw you run.
Robe, ring, shoes - they are all powerful symbols of honor which indicate full and complete restoration to the family. There is no probationary period. There are no "I told-you-sos," no "I suppose-you-are-broke" responses. No, none of these joy-dampening words that most of us are so good at. Rather, the shocking, but wonderful announcement of a party with music, feasting and dancing. " 'For this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they began to make merry." (v. 24)
So the town drunk who asked the young pastor, "What do you know about God?" raised a legitimate question. Here in the fifteenth chapter of Saint Luke's gospel we have Jesus' answer, God is like the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine sheep and goes in search of the one who is lost. God is like the woman who loses a coin and searches diligently throughout the house until she finds it. God is like the father who runs out to meet and greet and hug his returning son who has wasted his life in riotous living. This is what God is like!
For me, this is the greatest picture in all Scripture. It is the beautiful picture of spontaneous, unconditional acceptance. To interpret this story in any other fashion would be to twist it. The wonder of it is that this is what God is like! Here is the answer to our question. God loves the unlovely ones, the unworthy ones.
This is the heart and center of what we believe. If we believe this story by Jesus Christ, we are saying that, behind and over and under our lives, there is a God who cares for us like the father in this story cared for his son. Before you go to sleep, or as you sit on the tractor, or wait for the school bus - think on this picture of the "father racing to his son to welcome him home." There is no better news than this.
But the story that gives us such a warm and moving picture of fun, laughter and joy, also gives us a graphic description of the opposite. For the story does not end with the celebration and the happy reunion. We remember this father had two sons, and our parable continues: "Now the elder son was in the field; and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing ... But he was angry and refused to go in." (vv. 25-28)
H. L. Mencken once defined Puritanism as "the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy." That same kind of joyless spirit seems to have been deeply ingrained in the elder Brother. Mark Twain is reported to have described the elder brother in this fashion: "A good man in the worst sense of the word." He lived in the same house. He worked next to his father for many years. Yet he is far removed from the spirit of joy and laughter. Parties and celebrations don't turn him on. They turn him off.
"Lo, these many years I have served you ..." (v. 29)
These words tell us why. It was his impeccable "service" that prevented him from having a good time. It was hard for him to "unwind" because he was so busy "keeping score" to prove his dedication and responsibility. The "adding machine spirit," the spirit of always measuring and calculating, are big roadblocks to enjoyment. It seems that this kind of "measuring and judging" invariably leads to comparison, and that leads to condemnation. "All these years I have served you," translated means, "Someone isn't doing their share or someone isn't as responsible as I am. I am not appreciated around here!" Preachers are particularly vulnerable to the elder-brother spirit. "Year in and year out I have ministered to these people and for what? A miserly salary and some tomatoes and radishes when they are in season!" Or the long-time charter member: "What do these newcomers know about this congregation anyway? They should have been here when things were really tough."
When we can no longer see beyond the work we have done, then it is hard for us to appreciate love and joy and celebration. We can no longer enjoy parties because they are a waste of time and money. Something so frivolous has nothing to do with God and the church.
And we are right. But in our rightness we seem to shrivel and wither and become poor witnesses for the good news of Jesus Christ. There is so little joy in us. Maybe it is hard for us to be joyful because it is hard for us to receive. I don't know of a more popular word today, especially in church circles, than the word "Grace." But there seems to be precious little evidence of it. Maybe Karl Barth was right when he said, "Grace is always more devastating than judgment. Judgment is easy to take, but grace threatens the devil out of us!" Could that be why the opposite of joy is not sorrow, but unbelief? Laughter and joy, therefore, are some of the results of a trust in God our Father, who wraps his arms around us as he did the wayward son.
This is a serious issue. Our parable ends on a serious note. It ends with the younger son back in the arms of his family. But the older brother, with all of his dedication and hard work, also figures in. We would like to think he might come join the celebration, but the story does not have this kind of happy ending. It ends on a somber note that should impress us. The lost sheep was found and returned to the fold. The lost coin was found and put back into circulation. The prodigal returned and was accepted back into the father's house. The only failure in these moving parables of Jesus is that of the respectable, older brother. About him the story informs us, "He was angry and would not go in." No one shut him out. It seems that his own goodness created feelings of superiority which in turn made him into an unlovely kind of person. For these reasons I think this is an important story.
I am over sixty years old. At that age, I know the proverbial sand in the hour glass of time is running out. Although I am not losing a lot of sleep over it, I am concerned as to how I will handle these last years of my life. Will the elder brother spirit overtake me and make me essentially bitter, pessimistic and suspicious of happiness and parties? Or will I leave this world with people remembering an essentially positive spirit - one who in spite of growing infirmities could still enjoy life, people and parties?
This is not just an academic question. In the course of thirty years in the ministry I have been with many people as they moved toward the time of death. Some handled it well and some didn't. I remember old Joe who didn't handle it well. A whiner and complainer till the very end, he made life quite miserable for family and all who tried to minister to him. On the way back from the cemetery, Joe's neighbor told me not to worry about it because "Joe was born under a weeping willow." Is that the explanation?
There was Mildred. She was a widow for many years. During this time she was a cook in three different restaurants. She was also active in the woman's organization of her congregation. For a number of years she served as president. Then she suffered a debilitating stroke and had to be moved to the "Old Folk's Home." But even there, Mildred found meaning and purpose in living.
What makes the difference?
One has to be cautious about absolute answers, but this "difference" ought to be of vital interest to us, as we continue our pilgrimage, for we are on a journey home. But we are going home not to the arms of an elder brother, but the arms of our Father who runs out to meet us. "And he ran to his son ... he said to his servants, bring quickly the best robe ... we are going to have a party." (vv. 20-24) What a welcome! He was equally patient and kind to his disrespectful and uptight eldest son. "My son", the father answered, "You are always here with me and everything I have is yours." (v. 31)
This is what our God is like. May this picture of God become ever more meaningful and real for us, like the little girl who, in her Sunday bedtime prayers prayed, "God, I had a good time in church today. I wish you could have been there." May we, whatever our age, continue to have the time of our life, with this, the greatest story for any time.
Amen
1. The writer of this letter is unknown to the author.
The story is ancient and probably the victim of some embellishment, but the question it raises is genuine and timely. "What do I know about God?"
For me, the familiar and popular story of the Prodigal Son contains the best picture in all the Bible of what God is like. It is one of three parables (Luke 15), all of which dealing with the same concern. It is a concern for the lost - a lost coin, a lost sheep and a lost son. These stories came about because some of the respectable people of that time were quite critical of the bad company Jesus was keeping. Jesus, by eating with sinners, crossed the line that social custom had carefully drawn. Jesus said, "Rejoice with me." They said, "This man receives sinners." Their reaction points up the wisdom of the little girl who prayed, "God make all bad people good and all good people nice."
Jesus responds with a memorable story: A father who had two sons ... You remember the story. Remember how the younger son wanted to get away from the farm (and probably from his older brother)? His father, wanting a son and not a hired hand, let him go. For a while it probably went well for the young son, but the time came when he ran out of money and could no longer "fish in Bedigo Creek and drink the cold frosty ones!" He ended up on a farm feeding the hogs. Someone had said that it is a law of life, "that when we do as we please, we are seldom pleased with what we do." In any circle, but especially in Jewish circles, the pig pen is a powerful symbol of unfreedom. But it is here where this young person comes to his senses. I suspect it was the push of the hog yard as well as the pull of the father's house that created within him the spirit of repentance.
It makes for a very uncomfortable moment when we are finally honest with self and quit the game of pretending, but it is also a great moment. We are talking about a changed heart, a new direction: and that is what happened to this youngest son. And it looks like a genuine turnaround! There is no hint that he is going to take pride in the fact that he left home and go on TV and tell and retell how awful it was living with those hogs!
None of this. He heads for home and the stage is set for the shattering confrontation. There comes the unbelievable surprise of this story! We expect some kind of punishment. Instead we are told, "but while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him." (v. 20) The word for "ran" is a technical one used for a footrace in a stadium. The father didn't just amble toward his son, he raced toward him. It's an unforgettable picture - racing down the road, robe lifted high so as not to stumble, so he can hug his wayward son. Love replaces dignity.
Some years ago, I received a "modern" understanding of this beautiful homecoming. It is in the form of a letter from a son to his father:'
Dear Dad:
I found your letter to me here on the desk. Perhaps you didn 't want me to read it, now that I have come back home. But I'm glad I did. I thank you for your patience - for your understanding and love - for your mercy and forgiveness. I thank you also for the wonderful celebration on my return.
But Father - it was not the best robe clinging about my starven frame; Father - it was not the ring; Nor yet the shoes, nor anything Your kind, fleet-footed servant brought; Father - 'twas the thought That you, from your safe righteousness, could run To your unworthy son.
Father - not the dancing nor the singing, The feast, nor those who came, Showed me your secret, and in part Your long sight and your anguished heart. Your friends and neighbors reverencing
Your ways, might marvel at the thing - But I - my Father - I, your son, A great way from you, saw you run.
Robe, ring, shoes - they are all powerful symbols of honor which indicate full and complete restoration to the family. There is no probationary period. There are no "I told-you-sos," no "I suppose-you-are-broke" responses. No, none of these joy-dampening words that most of us are so good at. Rather, the shocking, but wonderful announcement of a party with music, feasting and dancing. " 'For this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they began to make merry." (v. 24)
So the town drunk who asked the young pastor, "What do you know about God?" raised a legitimate question. Here in the fifteenth chapter of Saint Luke's gospel we have Jesus' answer, God is like the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine sheep and goes in search of the one who is lost. God is like the woman who loses a coin and searches diligently throughout the house until she finds it. God is like the father who runs out to meet and greet and hug his returning son who has wasted his life in riotous living. This is what God is like!
For me, this is the greatest picture in all Scripture. It is the beautiful picture of spontaneous, unconditional acceptance. To interpret this story in any other fashion would be to twist it. The wonder of it is that this is what God is like! Here is the answer to our question. God loves the unlovely ones, the unworthy ones.
This is the heart and center of what we believe. If we believe this story by Jesus Christ, we are saying that, behind and over and under our lives, there is a God who cares for us like the father in this story cared for his son. Before you go to sleep, or as you sit on the tractor, or wait for the school bus - think on this picture of the "father racing to his son to welcome him home." There is no better news than this.
But the story that gives us such a warm and moving picture of fun, laughter and joy, also gives us a graphic description of the opposite. For the story does not end with the celebration and the happy reunion. We remember this father had two sons, and our parable continues: "Now the elder son was in the field; and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing ... But he was angry and refused to go in." (vv. 25-28)
H. L. Mencken once defined Puritanism as "the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy." That same kind of joyless spirit seems to have been deeply ingrained in the elder Brother. Mark Twain is reported to have described the elder brother in this fashion: "A good man in the worst sense of the word." He lived in the same house. He worked next to his father for many years. Yet he is far removed from the spirit of joy and laughter. Parties and celebrations don't turn him on. They turn him off.
"Lo, these many years I have served you ..." (v. 29)
These words tell us why. It was his impeccable "service" that prevented him from having a good time. It was hard for him to "unwind" because he was so busy "keeping score" to prove his dedication and responsibility. The "adding machine spirit," the spirit of always measuring and calculating, are big roadblocks to enjoyment. It seems that this kind of "measuring and judging" invariably leads to comparison, and that leads to condemnation. "All these years I have served you," translated means, "Someone isn't doing their share or someone isn't as responsible as I am. I am not appreciated around here!" Preachers are particularly vulnerable to the elder-brother spirit. "Year in and year out I have ministered to these people and for what? A miserly salary and some tomatoes and radishes when they are in season!" Or the long-time charter member: "What do these newcomers know about this congregation anyway? They should have been here when things were really tough."
When we can no longer see beyond the work we have done, then it is hard for us to appreciate love and joy and celebration. We can no longer enjoy parties because they are a waste of time and money. Something so frivolous has nothing to do with God and the church.
And we are right. But in our rightness we seem to shrivel and wither and become poor witnesses for the good news of Jesus Christ. There is so little joy in us. Maybe it is hard for us to be joyful because it is hard for us to receive. I don't know of a more popular word today, especially in church circles, than the word "Grace." But there seems to be precious little evidence of it. Maybe Karl Barth was right when he said, "Grace is always more devastating than judgment. Judgment is easy to take, but grace threatens the devil out of us!" Could that be why the opposite of joy is not sorrow, but unbelief? Laughter and joy, therefore, are some of the results of a trust in God our Father, who wraps his arms around us as he did the wayward son.
This is a serious issue. Our parable ends on a serious note. It ends with the younger son back in the arms of his family. But the older brother, with all of his dedication and hard work, also figures in. We would like to think he might come join the celebration, but the story does not have this kind of happy ending. It ends on a somber note that should impress us. The lost sheep was found and returned to the fold. The lost coin was found and put back into circulation. The prodigal returned and was accepted back into the father's house. The only failure in these moving parables of Jesus is that of the respectable, older brother. About him the story informs us, "He was angry and would not go in." No one shut him out. It seems that his own goodness created feelings of superiority which in turn made him into an unlovely kind of person. For these reasons I think this is an important story.
I am over sixty years old. At that age, I know the proverbial sand in the hour glass of time is running out. Although I am not losing a lot of sleep over it, I am concerned as to how I will handle these last years of my life. Will the elder brother spirit overtake me and make me essentially bitter, pessimistic and suspicious of happiness and parties? Or will I leave this world with people remembering an essentially positive spirit - one who in spite of growing infirmities could still enjoy life, people and parties?
This is not just an academic question. In the course of thirty years in the ministry I have been with many people as they moved toward the time of death. Some handled it well and some didn't. I remember old Joe who didn't handle it well. A whiner and complainer till the very end, he made life quite miserable for family and all who tried to minister to him. On the way back from the cemetery, Joe's neighbor told me not to worry about it because "Joe was born under a weeping willow." Is that the explanation?
There was Mildred. She was a widow for many years. During this time she was a cook in three different restaurants. She was also active in the woman's organization of her congregation. For a number of years she served as president. Then she suffered a debilitating stroke and had to be moved to the "Old Folk's Home." But even there, Mildred found meaning and purpose in living.
What makes the difference?
One has to be cautious about absolute answers, but this "difference" ought to be of vital interest to us, as we continue our pilgrimage, for we are on a journey home. But we are going home not to the arms of an elder brother, but the arms of our Father who runs out to meet us. "And he ran to his son ... he said to his servants, bring quickly the best robe ... we are going to have a party." (vv. 20-24) What a welcome! He was equally patient and kind to his disrespectful and uptight eldest son. "My son", the father answered, "You are always here with me and everything I have is yours." (v. 31)
This is what our God is like. May this picture of God become ever more meaningful and real for us, like the little girl who, in her Sunday bedtime prayers prayed, "God, I had a good time in church today. I wish you could have been there." May we, whatever our age, continue to have the time of our life, with this, the greatest story for any time.
Amen
1. The writer of this letter is unknown to the author.
