A Father's Heart Cry
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series II, Cycle C
Steven and LaDonna had been married nearly ten years before they were finally able to conceive a much-desired child. To their surprise and concern, little James arrived prematurely, weighing a scant four pounds. He required several weeks in the hospital's incubator and lots of prayers before he could finally go home.
In the years since then, Steven has often shared how his firstborn, and only child, changed his life forever. Having that little life depend on him made him a better man and better husband. And beyond that, he confesses, becoming a parent changed his relationship with God. He has committed himself to being a top-notch father and James is an adoring and adorable son. Through that effort he has emerged as a spiritual leader, not only for his child but in his church and community.
Theirs is a happy story, one that needs to be told, because, as we know, not all parents' stories turn out so well. Being a parent can be great, of course. Those homemade Mother's Day cards, or presents wrapped by little fingers are more precious than the finest jewels. A hug and a kiss or an "I love you, Daddy" can bring satisfaction beyond measure.
But not every parent gets to celebrate. In the same church that Steve and LaDonna attend is another set of parents who have been called numerous times in the middle of the night to go the emergency room when their son has attempted suicide. At other times, the calls have been from the police. They have loved their son no less than their other children, and no less than other parents love their children. They have tried their best to follow the experts' recommendations, but the cycle of mental illness, depression, and alcohol abuse continues to challenge their best intentions, and the possibility of their son's self-destruction looms constantly overhead.
What if you have a child in whom it is difficult to take pride or delight? I'm not talking about the baseball through the picture window or the raging hormones and insane arguments of the "terrible teen" years, when boundaries get challenged and nerves get tested. What happens when a child's action brings true shame?
Take, for example, the parents who courageously turned their own son into authorities after they realized he was a sniper who had been terrorizing their city for several months. Or, consider the plight of "good parents" whose children end up in prison or even on death row because of drugs, mental illness, or other circumstances beyond parental control. These days, nearly all parents live in fear of their child being a victim of school violence, but what if your child is the anxious, unhappy, bullied adolescent who does the shooting? What do you do when your son is convicted as a sexual predator? These are a parent's worst nightmares.
Sometimes, despite the best efforts of dedicated, diligent, and loving parents, the child just turns out terribly warped. So what is a parent to do with a true problem child? That is the dilemma that rips at the heart of God in today's passage from the prophet Hosea.
Earlier in the book of Hosea, the prophet used the example of marital infidelity to reveal a fundamental breach in the nation's corrupted relationship with God -- Israel is condemned as a cheating spouse. A marriage gone bad is one kind of heartache, but a rebellious child is another matter altogether. You can't divorce your children regardless of how much you might want to sometimes. The parent-child relationship holds a different kind of passion -- and, when things go awry, a different kind of grief.
"When Israel was a child, I loved him," God pronounces, "and out of Egypt I called my son. The more I called them, the more they went from me." Nearly every parent can relate, one would think. "Stay in the driveway," we call to the four-year-old on a tricycle, and he immediately makes a beeline for the street. "You shall worship no God but me," declares the Lord as the first commandment, yet "they kept sacrificing to the Baals, and offering incense to idols."
Hosea's portrait of God as Father is not new to the biblical tradition, but it would seem to be unique amongst world religions. No other deity relates to human beings in quite the same manner or with quite the same passion, with the same loyalty or the same jealousy. Threaten a child and you will arouse a parent's strongest fighting instinct. Betray their love and you unleash their greatest heartache. God's passion is no less intense, Hosea reveals.
The prophet Hosea most likely wrote during the reign of King Hoshea. As the nation of Assyria struggled to gain control of an already unstable region, smaller nations were caught amidst power-plays for security and control. Treaties were made and conveniently broken with those military forces making the best promises or the worst threats. The king's latest bargain at the time of the prophet happened to be with Egypt, and it was a costly one at that. To accept protection from a foreign nation meant paying tribute -- extracted from the ranks of the poor and the weak. Such tribute robbed the nation of its gross national product disrupting the national economy; and, as always, those on the brink of survival suffered the most.
Dependence on these foreign armies also meant accepting their culture and giving obeisance to their gods. Given Israel's history, this was an ironic return to the nation that had once enslaved them. Hosea rightly saw such dependence as a rejection of what God had done in the Exodus. Israel was living by pagan standards and not God's family values. In today's terms we might say that because the nation did not trust God's protection, Homeland Security became more important than "liberty and justice for all."
The nation had abandoned the covenant and rebelled against God, and Hosea knew this meant disaster. Given his own marital and family dysfunction, he likely knew a parent's grief firsthand. Earlier chapters tell of his courtship and marriage to an unfaithful wife and the impact of children born into the affair. "Jezreel,""Loruhamah," and "Lo-ammi" bore the impact of the infidelity -- much like "not-pitied" children of broken homes bear the emotional scars today, emotionally disowned as "not my people." And, like many of today's youngsters they acted out their anguish in rebellion.
Those of you with less-than-perfect children might, perhaps, have an inkling. But a few of you, who have perhaps personally parented persons who are hell-bent on self-destruction, are better positioned to grasp the heartache of God amidst Israel's spiral toward disaster. While the airwaves are loaded with "cheatin' heart" songs, we hear very few broken-hearted parent songs, quite likely because such anguish most often runs too deep for lyrics.
"My people are bent on turning away from me," God says. As we examine our own world we could well ask, "Are we any different?" Our own nation, like Israel, was called into existence by God, or so we say. Although not the military underdog that Israel was in Hosea's time, we are still trying to pursue our own course toward domestic tranquility without heed of covenant loyalty. In our pursuit of individuality and self-reliance are we not equally guilty of believing we can fix our own problems (or even the world's), without God? Our military, political, or economic solutions may differ in content but our "keep religion out of politics" attitude reveals the same fundamental breach with the heart of the Creator.
It's not just the nation who has strayed. As the church, we are a people called out of bondage by the blood of Christ. Yet we worship at our convenience -- if at all. God is great and all that, but an hour on Sunday is enough, isn't it? And why should I miss a good ball game or my quiet time with the Sunday paper for that, either?
We practice our ethical teachings -- until they become uncomfortable. "Love honor and cherish" sounds good in the wedding vows, but something (or someone) better is bound to come along, and don't we owe it to ourselves to be happy?
We receive God's blessings but skimp on our charity toward others. A tenth? Are you kidding me?
We ask for God's mercy and protection, but rarely share our testimony with unbelievers. We don't want to offend, after all.
Such behaviors pave a path toward self-destruction and this grieves the heart of God, just as parents' hearts are rent when a son or daughter's rebellion hurls them toward broken relationships, economic ruin, or even a prison cell. "The more I call, the more they went from me." What is a loving God to do?
As we said earlier, Hosea is not the only one in the Bible to speak of God as a loving Father. Perhaps it was Hosea that Jesus had in mind when he told his followers the story of another father in another place. This father also watched in pain as his younger son left home intent on making his own way in the world -- a way that did not include his father's family values, but did include the son's share of the family wealth. Jesus told the story in dramatic fashion as this son squanders the resources of his inheritance in an ever-descending spiral that many parents today know all too well. Perhaps it was Jesus' own knowledge of his Heavenly Father's compassion which led him to reveal how this father would respond. This father watched, and he waited in hope for the moment when his prodigal son would appear on the horizon. And when his broken and humiliated child did return, this father ran to greet him with open, loving arms and tears of joy.
Jesus knew the love of the Father as well as his anguish, just like Hosea had known it. "How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?" the prophet asks. "My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender." "I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no mortal, the holy one in your midst, and I will not come in wrath."
The good news is that in the end God's love always outweighs God's punishment. That was the experience of the Jews who wrote the Hebrew Scriptures, and that is the experience the church proclaims. As much as God fumes over our idolatry, hypocrisy, and self-centered ways, and much as God aches over our self-destructive addictions and community-dividing behaviors, God will not abandon us and God will not reject us when we plead for mercy.
In the end, God's heart cry is a love song for us. God calls to us like God called to Israel. It is a song of reconciliation sung by Jesus of Nazareth on the hill of Calvary and it is echoed by the Spirit in our own hearts and lives. It is a song that will flow out of us when we stand willing to watch and to wait in patience and to receive and forgive others despite our own anguished hearts. This is God's promise: The heartache will end, but the love will not, because, in the end, this is a love song that promises to resonate through all eternity.
In the years since then, Steven has often shared how his firstborn, and only child, changed his life forever. Having that little life depend on him made him a better man and better husband. And beyond that, he confesses, becoming a parent changed his relationship with God. He has committed himself to being a top-notch father and James is an adoring and adorable son. Through that effort he has emerged as a spiritual leader, not only for his child but in his church and community.
Theirs is a happy story, one that needs to be told, because, as we know, not all parents' stories turn out so well. Being a parent can be great, of course. Those homemade Mother's Day cards, or presents wrapped by little fingers are more precious than the finest jewels. A hug and a kiss or an "I love you, Daddy" can bring satisfaction beyond measure.
But not every parent gets to celebrate. In the same church that Steve and LaDonna attend is another set of parents who have been called numerous times in the middle of the night to go the emergency room when their son has attempted suicide. At other times, the calls have been from the police. They have loved their son no less than their other children, and no less than other parents love their children. They have tried their best to follow the experts' recommendations, but the cycle of mental illness, depression, and alcohol abuse continues to challenge their best intentions, and the possibility of their son's self-destruction looms constantly overhead.
What if you have a child in whom it is difficult to take pride or delight? I'm not talking about the baseball through the picture window or the raging hormones and insane arguments of the "terrible teen" years, when boundaries get challenged and nerves get tested. What happens when a child's action brings true shame?
Take, for example, the parents who courageously turned their own son into authorities after they realized he was a sniper who had been terrorizing their city for several months. Or, consider the plight of "good parents" whose children end up in prison or even on death row because of drugs, mental illness, or other circumstances beyond parental control. These days, nearly all parents live in fear of their child being a victim of school violence, but what if your child is the anxious, unhappy, bullied adolescent who does the shooting? What do you do when your son is convicted as a sexual predator? These are a parent's worst nightmares.
Sometimes, despite the best efforts of dedicated, diligent, and loving parents, the child just turns out terribly warped. So what is a parent to do with a true problem child? That is the dilemma that rips at the heart of God in today's passage from the prophet Hosea.
Earlier in the book of Hosea, the prophet used the example of marital infidelity to reveal a fundamental breach in the nation's corrupted relationship with God -- Israel is condemned as a cheating spouse. A marriage gone bad is one kind of heartache, but a rebellious child is another matter altogether. You can't divorce your children regardless of how much you might want to sometimes. The parent-child relationship holds a different kind of passion -- and, when things go awry, a different kind of grief.
"When Israel was a child, I loved him," God pronounces, "and out of Egypt I called my son. The more I called them, the more they went from me." Nearly every parent can relate, one would think. "Stay in the driveway," we call to the four-year-old on a tricycle, and he immediately makes a beeline for the street. "You shall worship no God but me," declares the Lord as the first commandment, yet "they kept sacrificing to the Baals, and offering incense to idols."
Hosea's portrait of God as Father is not new to the biblical tradition, but it would seem to be unique amongst world religions. No other deity relates to human beings in quite the same manner or with quite the same passion, with the same loyalty or the same jealousy. Threaten a child and you will arouse a parent's strongest fighting instinct. Betray their love and you unleash their greatest heartache. God's passion is no less intense, Hosea reveals.
The prophet Hosea most likely wrote during the reign of King Hoshea. As the nation of Assyria struggled to gain control of an already unstable region, smaller nations were caught amidst power-plays for security and control. Treaties were made and conveniently broken with those military forces making the best promises or the worst threats. The king's latest bargain at the time of the prophet happened to be with Egypt, and it was a costly one at that. To accept protection from a foreign nation meant paying tribute -- extracted from the ranks of the poor and the weak. Such tribute robbed the nation of its gross national product disrupting the national economy; and, as always, those on the brink of survival suffered the most.
Dependence on these foreign armies also meant accepting their culture and giving obeisance to their gods. Given Israel's history, this was an ironic return to the nation that had once enslaved them. Hosea rightly saw such dependence as a rejection of what God had done in the Exodus. Israel was living by pagan standards and not God's family values. In today's terms we might say that because the nation did not trust God's protection, Homeland Security became more important than "liberty and justice for all."
The nation had abandoned the covenant and rebelled against God, and Hosea knew this meant disaster. Given his own marital and family dysfunction, he likely knew a parent's grief firsthand. Earlier chapters tell of his courtship and marriage to an unfaithful wife and the impact of children born into the affair. "Jezreel,""Loruhamah," and "Lo-ammi" bore the impact of the infidelity -- much like "not-pitied" children of broken homes bear the emotional scars today, emotionally disowned as "not my people." And, like many of today's youngsters they acted out their anguish in rebellion.
Those of you with less-than-perfect children might, perhaps, have an inkling. But a few of you, who have perhaps personally parented persons who are hell-bent on self-destruction, are better positioned to grasp the heartache of God amidst Israel's spiral toward disaster. While the airwaves are loaded with "cheatin' heart" songs, we hear very few broken-hearted parent songs, quite likely because such anguish most often runs too deep for lyrics.
"My people are bent on turning away from me," God says. As we examine our own world we could well ask, "Are we any different?" Our own nation, like Israel, was called into existence by God, or so we say. Although not the military underdog that Israel was in Hosea's time, we are still trying to pursue our own course toward domestic tranquility without heed of covenant loyalty. In our pursuit of individuality and self-reliance are we not equally guilty of believing we can fix our own problems (or even the world's), without God? Our military, political, or economic solutions may differ in content but our "keep religion out of politics" attitude reveals the same fundamental breach with the heart of the Creator.
It's not just the nation who has strayed. As the church, we are a people called out of bondage by the blood of Christ. Yet we worship at our convenience -- if at all. God is great and all that, but an hour on Sunday is enough, isn't it? And why should I miss a good ball game or my quiet time with the Sunday paper for that, either?
We practice our ethical teachings -- until they become uncomfortable. "Love honor and cherish" sounds good in the wedding vows, but something (or someone) better is bound to come along, and don't we owe it to ourselves to be happy?
We receive God's blessings but skimp on our charity toward others. A tenth? Are you kidding me?
We ask for God's mercy and protection, but rarely share our testimony with unbelievers. We don't want to offend, after all.
Such behaviors pave a path toward self-destruction and this grieves the heart of God, just as parents' hearts are rent when a son or daughter's rebellion hurls them toward broken relationships, economic ruin, or even a prison cell. "The more I call, the more they went from me." What is a loving God to do?
As we said earlier, Hosea is not the only one in the Bible to speak of God as a loving Father. Perhaps it was Hosea that Jesus had in mind when he told his followers the story of another father in another place. This father also watched in pain as his younger son left home intent on making his own way in the world -- a way that did not include his father's family values, but did include the son's share of the family wealth. Jesus told the story in dramatic fashion as this son squanders the resources of his inheritance in an ever-descending spiral that many parents today know all too well. Perhaps it was Jesus' own knowledge of his Heavenly Father's compassion which led him to reveal how this father would respond. This father watched, and he waited in hope for the moment when his prodigal son would appear on the horizon. And when his broken and humiliated child did return, this father ran to greet him with open, loving arms and tears of joy.
Jesus knew the love of the Father as well as his anguish, just like Hosea had known it. "How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?" the prophet asks. "My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender." "I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no mortal, the holy one in your midst, and I will not come in wrath."
The good news is that in the end God's love always outweighs God's punishment. That was the experience of the Jews who wrote the Hebrew Scriptures, and that is the experience the church proclaims. As much as God fumes over our idolatry, hypocrisy, and self-centered ways, and much as God aches over our self-destructive addictions and community-dividing behaviors, God will not abandon us and God will not reject us when we plead for mercy.
In the end, God's heart cry is a love song for us. God calls to us like God called to Israel. It is a song of reconciliation sung by Jesus of Nazareth on the hill of Calvary and it is echoed by the Spirit in our own hearts and lives. It is a song that will flow out of us when we stand willing to watch and to wait in patience and to receive and forgive others despite our own anguished hearts. This is God's promise: The heartache will end, but the love will not, because, in the end, this is a love song that promises to resonate through all eternity.
