God astonishes us

Lenten Meditation  1 March 2012

“This marvelous anthology of books and letters called the Bible is all for the sake of astonishment!  It’s for divine transformation (theosis), not intellectual or “small self” coziness.” (page 7)

Stained glass window of Grace Baptist Church of Hampton, VA  

          To begin with astonishment and transformation as an assertion, even as a theme about Scripture, is a delight.  Too often Christians are so tight about the reading and study of the Bible that it becomes more of a duty or a rote exercise than sheer joy or amazement.  There have been times in my life when either preparing for a sermon or for teaching a class that I allowed the intellectual discipline to become the primary focus of my study.  Now it is important, I believe, to understand the context of a passage, a chapter, or a book of the Bible, but there is more to be received than simply knowing the history, the form, or the linguistic nuances which make up a passage.  What is God revealing to me today through a word or phrase of this reading?  How can I hear Good News through this passage?  What is it challenging me to do with my life, having read this passage?

          Some of you may be familiar with a form of Bible study sometimes called “African Bible Study.”  This is the format we used in small groups at our diocesan convention last November; it is also the way we begin Executive Council meetings and Standing Committee meetings.  One member of the group reads the passage and a discussion ensues on the first question found at the end of the previous paragraph.  Then another participant reads the passage again, sometimes from a different translation and conversation focuses on question two.  Finally, a third participant reads the passage again, and the third question is discussed. This style of Bible study does not require one be an expert in the study of Scripture; each participant brings his or her own experience to this digging into a Bible passage in order to share with others insight gained for living today.  Beginners on the spiritual journey as well as the veterans may discover new insights both from their own depths but also from the others in the group.

          I never cease to be amazed in the study of Scripture at how often a word or phrase which I have read many times all of a sudden leaps off the page as if it had just been written for me today.  I may have done in-depth analysis of a passage several times, I may have preached on this verse repeatedly, I may even have taught about this bit of Scripture numerous times; but today I see that word or phrase as if it had been inserted in my Bible overnight, never before to be seen or heard.  Astonishment at how God has provided for me draws me deeper into the depths of my own soul and into the Bible itself.

          My prayer for you this Lent is that the Lord of life may deepen your astonishment as you read through the Scriptures and as you hear the proclamation of the Scriptures at worship.  Listen carefully to what is being spoken.  As you read passages of Scripture, try reading aloud instead of eye-scanning the words.  There is something powerful in the auditory reception, and you will read aloud much more slowly, allowing God to get in between the words in order to jump out and surprise you.  Make awareness of amazement a part of your discipline this Lent.

Lenten Meditations begin today

Lenten Meditation—29 Feb 2012

“I offer these reflections to again unite what should never have been separated: Sacred Scripture and Christian spirituality.”  (Things Hidden, page 5)

Jesus in Golgotha by Theophanes the Cretan

          As I began thinking about a book to  pore through for Lent this year, I found in my collection a volume that had been given me by a friend a couple of years ago for Christmas and realized that it would be the ideal topic.  Many of us take on a discipline of some sort—either giving something up (preferably desired and not frivolous) or taking something on.  A Lenten discipline that does not include both prayer and some Scripture reading is in need of some adjustment, in my opinion.  The “giving up” aspect provides a myriad of opportunities for prayer, since as soon as we choose to give up something our tempter puts that very thing right in front of us; give up some food and see how many TV ads are about food.  When temptation strikes, pray for strength to persevere. Remember Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane? And as soon as we take on a discipline such as a few minutes of meditation, it seems like we are distracted by a telephone or door bell. 

          The book I have chosen for Lent is written by Richard Rohr, a Roman Catholic Franciscan monk who lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  The book title is Things Hidden, Scripture as Spirituality.  Rather than taking the Bible book by book or focusing only on one book of the Bible, Father Rohr explores major themes that flow throughout both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures.  The author relates that this work is based on a series of talks first given in 1998, but updated now some 25 years later. 

          I recommend that you read meditatively with the volume in one hand and a Bible in the other.  There are numerous scripture references which may be read in context in order to fully understand the author’s meaning.  Read slowly and let the words of Rohr and the biblical authors take root, allowing prayer to arise out of your time.  This will perhaps require giving up some time, or more properly setting aside some time each day to immerse yourself in the task.  This discipline will open up the opportunity to take on the study of biblical themes, some of which may be uncomfortable.

          It is my intention to offer written meditations most of the week days through the remainder of Lent, although there may be a day or two that are missing.  Saturdays and Sundays may or may not have offerings.  I found during Advent that some on some Sundays I just had to write, even before the busy-ness of Sunday services.  So bear up and bear with me as we travel the road to Jerusalem, following our Lord to Golgotha and ultimately to the empty tomb.

Compassion

But I say to you listen, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. … Do to others as you would have them do to you. …  Be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate. Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.  Forgive and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you.  (Luke 6:27-28, 31, 36-38)

Compassion is the final characteristic of Father in the parable of the Man Who had Two Sons.  Previously I explored the concepts of forgiveness and welcome, so now, as we are within a day of the Feast of the Incarnation, it is time to explore mercy or compassion, oiktirmon for those who study Greek.  From Latin, compassion means “with feeling.”  “God’s compassion is described by Jesus not simply to show me how willing God is to feel for me, or to forgive me my sins and offer me new life and happiness, but to invite me to become like God and to show the same compassion to others as he is showing to me.” (Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son, page 123)  He goes on to say that whether we are the younger or older sibling we are beloved children of a compassionate God, and heirs; and if heirs, then our lives are to reflect the compassion of the One who loves us so much that we too stretch out our hands in blessing to receive those who God brings to us, regardless of how they feel or think about us.

To be a compassionate person is to be willing to give away our lives, to become witnesses to the love of God in our own lives.  In New Testament Greek, the word we translate witness is actually martyr.  We tend to think of martyrs as those who have died bodily while defending the faith.  We hear of the first martyr, St. Stephen, and his brutal death at the hands of the people of Jerusalem just outside the walls of the city.  There are myriad other stories through history down to the present that tell of those who were willing to lay aside their earthly life for their life in Christ.  But we are all called to be witnesses—a legal term that means we can only speak of what we have seen and know personally—of the love and compassion of God that has been offered to us personally and corporately.

         The parable of the prodigious father gives to Jesus’ hearers an example of the generosity of God to welcome home the wayward child, receiving and blessing and offering a place in the family.  The father ignores conventional wisdom that says, “Wait and see if the repentance is legitimate before you bring him into the family again.”  No, as soon as the parent sees the lost child, the one who was as dead to the family, he runs out to greet the child and adorns the wastrel with a robe, a ring, and sandals.  It would be a powerful story if it concluded with the preparation for the feast, but the story continues.  The obedient older child becomes enraged as soon as the music and dancing and feasting are discovered.  “I have been like a slave, never once wandering away from the norms and rules of the family, and no one ever gave me a feast.”  Jealousy, self-pity, self-righteousness, competitiveness: all these speak to the basest levels of the human heart; but God’s compassion also overcomes these sins which separate as surely as the distant country and invites this child to come to the party too.  There is no need for competition, as “all I have is yours.” 

There is more than enough in the economy of God to proclaim abundance.  Scarcity posits that the only way for me to get what I need is for someone else to lack what they need; fear and greed becomes the motivating factors in that scenario.  A century and a half ago, Charles Dickens penned his famous tale of Ebenezer Scrooge, arguably the most famous miser and misanthrope in the English language.  Through a series of visions of past, present, and future Scrooge is transformed from “Bah, humbug!” to “Merry Christmas everyone!”  He discovers that there is more to life than simply amassing wealth for himself.  He suddenly finds that generosity, which I believe to be at the root of compassion, gives him greater joy than he ever imagined possible.

Tomorrow night most of us will be at a worship service where we will sing Christmas carols, hear the overwhelming story of God’s compassion in coming to live among humanity, and remember that we have been given a gift that exceeds the capacity of the human heart to fully grasp.  We will likely either hear or say, “I wish we could carry the spirit of Christmas all year.”  I think we would all love to keep the warmth and closeness that is available as we kneel and sing “Silent Night.”  And yet for many, this Christmas will bring heartache that is almost unbearable from a recent loss and grief that seems unbearable.  The best we can do is hold those who are broken-hearted either in our arms or in our hearts and remember that in God’s heart we are united with those who are not with us, for nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

 In the weeks and months ahead, we in the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth will have more than ample opportunities to express the forgiveness of God, the welcome of God, and the compassion of God as we move toward reconciliation and reunion with those from whom we have been separated.  Litigation may drag on for a long time, but we can choose to become like the one whose name we bear and offer Christ’s hand for blessing even, perhaps especially, to those from whom we have been estranged.  As God was willing to come among us as a vulnerable infant, to take on human flesh, to suffer and die as one of us, so we are called to proclaim God’s kingdom in and through our own lives, reaching out, offering, and showing God’s mercy and compassion at every opportunity.

 Thank you for struggling through this parable with me over this Advent; thank you for your comments and prayers.  My life has been changed through the study of the books by Nouwen and Keller, and I will never again hear the parable of the Man Who Had Two Sons again with the same simplistic ears.  May God richly bless you during the season of Christmas and Epiphany and throughout the coming year.  May the insights you have gained this year make you a witness to God’s forgiveness, welcome and compassion to all you meet.

 Merry Christmas!

Welcoming

While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity.  He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms and kissed him.

Prodigal Son by Rembrandt (detail)

               Over much of the past four week, I have been writing about the characters in the parable of the Man Who Had Two Sons.  One day I explored a role that was not explicit, but I believe implicit in the story: Mother.  Other than that one time the story has been approached from a male perspective.  As Jesus told the parable, there are no female characters, unless one might infer that some of the servants would have been girls/women, which is not only likely but probable.  After all, who would have cooked the great feast, and who would have been responsible for cleaning up the mess?  I am aware that from a 21^st century perspective, that comment can be highly offensive, but remember, Jesus lived in a totally paternalistic culture that considered women as chattel, and he related to his hearers with a story that at least on the surface they could relate themselves to.  One might wonder how Jesus might have told the story as the parable of a prodigal daughter.  I will leave it to the reader to make an attempt at translating the parable from all male to all female.

               Henri Nouwen speaks of three characteristics of God, as represented in the character of Father, that are vital both to the parable and to our relationship with God and with others:  forgiving, welcoming, and offering compassion.  Yesterday I explored forgiveness and how if we are to truly accept forgiveness we must be willing to become forgiving persons.  Today the focus is on welcoming.

               In the parable Father leaves the comfort of his home and runs out to meet Younger Brother.  I am convinced that part of the scandal of this story for Jesus’ hearers is that Father does not act like a 1^st century father; he behaves much more as a mother.  Instead of waiting for the wastrel to crawl home, having the son grovel before him, and then handing out punishment, this parent throws all conventions to the wind and runs out to meet the emaciated, forlorn child.  Nouwen relates that the Rembrandt painting “The Return of the Prodigal Son” has included feminine imagery in the portrayal of the old man. 

Prodigal Son by Rembrandt (detail)

              It all began with the hands.  The two are quite different.  The father’s left hand touching the son’s shoulder is strong and muscular.  The fingers are spread out and cover a large part of the prodigal son’s shoulder and back….How different is the father’s right hand.  This hand does not hold or grasp.  It is refined, soft, and tender.  The fingers are close to each other and they have an elegant quality.  It lies gently upon the son’s shoulder.  It wants to caress, to stroke, and to offer consolation and comfort.  It is a mother’s hand….He is mother as well as father. He touches the son with a masculine and a feminine hand.  He holds and she caresses.  He confirms and she consoles.  He is, indeed, God in whom both manhood and womanhood, fatherhood and motherhood, are fully present. (The Return of the Prodigal Son, page 99)  In addition he sees the cloak of the old man as representative of the wings of a hen comforting and protecting the chicks.  He sees in the painting a mother who caresses her child, surrounds him with the warmth of her body, and holds him against the womb from which he sprang.” (page 100).

               Every year at this time we are bombarded with images of coming home for the holidays: TV ads and programs, billboards, and even Hollywood movies.  A large aspect of the imagery is marketing, encouraging spending on gifts and food for the sumptuous holiday feast.  The Salvation Army, various food banks, and other organizations work very hard to provide to every household in the US more than a subsistence meal for the Holy Day.  Many communities provide Christmas dinner for anyone who would come and feast together with others, so that no one need be alone at Christmas.  Everything about the season calls us to “come home” where we are welcomed as long lost children.  We are drawn to be as children again, remembering a time of safety, security and hopefulness, even if it is only a wishful remembrance of what never was.  We desire for our children and grandchildren, our nieces and nephews, our friends children, even youngsters we don’t know an experience of care and love that will sustain them when the world is not so friendly and the troubles of life beset them.  Then, perhaps, they may return to the memory of care and welcoming that might prevent despair and offer hope even in the darkest hour.

               We all have a deep yearning to be welcomed, to be included, to be drawn into the warmth of a loving mother who caresses us and croons her love as we are embraced by protective arms. Every one of us longs to be called “the beloved one” by God as God runs to meet us, to clothe us in the best robe—the garment of honor, be adorned with a ring—the symbol of inheritance, to have new shoes put on our feet—the sign of prestige.  We ache to be received as the wastrel, not as we deserve, but as God’s beloved child.  And this is precisely the point of Jesus’ parable:  “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.”  (Matthew 11:28)  As in the parable, God as father/mother has loved us enough to let us wander, but also loves us so much that as we awake and find ourselves in the hog trough of life’s ills, we may return home to a glorious welcome.  Even if we never left home to slop swine, but allowed resentment to enslave us, we too are welcomed by the same loving God who comes out to us to call us to join the feast.

               Nouwen has posited that the calling of Christians is to become as Father in the parable, to become as God, forgiving, welcoming, being compassionate.  As in the Lord’s Prayer petition concerning forgiveness we might say, “Welcome me only as much as I am willing to welcome others.”  Again, a very sharp two-edged sword.  Am I willing to welcome into my life the unlovable as well as the loveable?   When asked about their congregation, most Episcopalians describe St. Swithen’s as a warm friendly church; and if you are a member and part of the “in-crowd” it probably is.  Too often, however visitors and potential newcomers are virtually ignored as they arrive, perhaps struggling to balance a Prayer Book, Hymnal, and service leaflet with 6 insert pages during worship, and even at the coffee hour.  I know there are some parishes that go way out of the way to welcome the stranger, but every congregation, including those who are best at welcoming, can strengthen their reception and incorporation of their guests.

               “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:12)  Jesus’ love for us is symbolized by his arms outstretched on the Cross to embrace absolutely everyone and bring them into the loving embrace of God.  In each of the Gospels we see Jesus welcoming women, outcasts, sinners, the untouchables, as well as Pharisees and rich young rulers.  If we are to grow into “the full stature of Christ”, we must be willing to stretch our spiritual muscles to reach out and invite those God sends us into God’s feast.  It is not our own welcome, but God’s welcome.  And She has prepared a banquet table, groaning with the riches that only God can provide; a table surrounded with love; and a warm embrace that says, “I don’t care where you have been, welcome home.”

The power of “me first”

            How does it feel to say:”The father is like me”?  Do I want to be like the father?  Do I want to be not just the one who is being forgiven, but also the one who forgives; not just the one who is being welcomed home, but also the one who welcomes home; not just the one who receives compassion, but the one who offers it as well?  (The Return of the Prodigal Son, page 122.)

            Forgiveness is the key to the Gospel message for me.  Without forgiveness, Jesus is little more than another prophet who brings another set of rules by which we are able to move a step or two closer to God.  However, no matter how hard we try on our own, we can never attain righteousness or earn a place in God’s heart.  Built into our DNA is a propensity for sin.  Throughout the history of humanity there have been attempts to define sin, and usually the definition contains a list of those things “we have left undone which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done.”  (BCP p. 41f)  My favorite definition of sin came from a child.  A friend who was a Navy Chaplain in the mid-1960’s was teaching a class of six-year-olds and asked them the question, “What is sin?”  One child replied, “It’s not obeying my mother.”  Another said, “When I hit my little brother.”  But a third said, “It’s the power of me first.”  Forty plus years later I have yet to discover a more profound statement on sin. 

            Advent calls us to prepare our hearts for the coming of the Christ Child and his birth in Bethlehem. Too often we approach the manger in which Jesus was laid, with a warm heart and  a loving soul, desiring to return to the innocence of childhood ourselves, to a time of wonder and delight and hope.

Laser-cut metal Nativity Cross by Designer Valerie Arkisson

We forget the prophetic witness that this child is born for sorrow, to take away all human sorrow.  One of the gifts of the Magi is myrrh, an oil for anointing bodies for burial after death.  Too many times we want to turn away from the horror of the Cross and be consoled by the emotions of new life, new hope.  And yet the Christ event contains Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection, Ascension, and the sending of the Holy Spirit.  Remove any of the components and the picture is incomplete; the story of salvation history has not been told.

            Forgiveness of all sin.  As incredible as it sounds that is precisely the mission for the Son of God, a mission which took him from Bethlehem to Egypt, to Nazareth and ultimately to Jerusalem.  On the Cross He bore the sins of all humanity, all individuals and every sin, whether venial or mortal.  No one asked Him to bear this burden; He chose to do so because of love.

            When I am brutally honest, I am able to admit my sinfulness—not just a sinful nature,

but a sinning creature.  When I realize the enormity of my brokenness I, like Younger Brother want to rise from my pig sty of sin and say, “I will arise and go to my father and say, ‘I have sinned against heaven and against you.’”  When I realize that God the Father has rushed to meet me and to embrace me with the arms of forgiving love I am moved to speechlessness before Him.  I am humbled beyond imagining.  And when I hear of Father offering the same love and forgiveness to Older Brother in me, I cannot but bow again and be struck mute in the presence of such grace.

            Nouwen’s conclusion is that our true calling, our true following of Jesus is to become Father, not simply remain as Younger Brother or Older Brother.  That means I must be willing to offer the same gift of forgiveness as Father in the parable and Father in Heaven.  Try as I might, on my own, I cannot even begin to approach that level of graciousness.  I want to hear those who have trespassed against me beg for my forgiveness; I want to impose burdensome penances for even minor offences; in essence, I want to see my debtors grovel before me before I even lift a finger of blessing.

            Do I really want to be Father?  I desperately wish to be able to forgive as I have been forgiven, to recognize the beloved sons and daughters in everyone I meet, but I am not there yet.  I am still caught up in “me-firstness.”  In Nouwen’s book Home Tonight, a story from Desert Wisdom is told as follows:  A brother who was insulted by another brother came to Abbot Sisoes and said to him, ”I was hurt by my brother and want to avenge myself.”  The old man tried to console him and said, “Don’t do that, my child. Rather leave vengeance to God.”  But he said, “I will not quit until I avenge myself.”  The old man said, “Let us pray brother”; and standing up he said, “O God, we no longer need you to take care of us since we now avenge ourselves.”  Hearing these words, the brother fell at the feet of the old man and said, “I am not going to fight with my brother anymore.  Forgive me Abba.”  (Nouwen, Home Tonight, p.60)

            As I contemplate meeting those who have left the Episcopal Church, I am torn between the response of Older Brother and Father.  On the one hand, I want to extract oaths of conformity and even periods of penance and possibly partial ostracism until such time as I determine they are worthy of my/our forgiveness; on the other hand I long to be Father who, when they are still far away, runs to greet them and draw them into grace-filled reunion.  Like Older Brother or like Father?  Remember, “Forgive us our sins only as much as we forgive those who sin against us.”

"Becoming the Father"

For a long time the father remained “the other,” the one who would receive me, forgive me, offer me a home, and give me peace and joy.  The father was the place to return to, the goal of my journey, the final resting place.  It was only gradually and often quite painfully that I came to realize that my spiritual journey would never be complete as long as the father remained an outsider.  (Nouwen, “The Return of the Prodigal Son”, pp 102-121.)

God the Father with His Right Hand Raised in Blessing by Girolamo dai Libi

            The first time I read those words and the chapter they introduce several years ago I was not prepared for the depth into which this insight would take me.  It has only been in my time in Fort Worth that I have really begun to understand what Nouwen is describing as he speaks of “becoming the Father.” 

            I spoke yesterday of my own dad and how he was in many ways an absentee parent, spending almost all of his life with his patients.  I never questioned whether he loved me, and he never pushed me to be something other than who I really was.  I believe that he loved me as unconditionally as he could.  He himself had been reared by a father who was a priest, and I would guess in some ways also was absent.  His father had died when he was just 15, and he had missed the guidance and presence of his father as he went through his tumultuous late teen years.  He never, as far as I can tell, lost his faith, or wandered very far from his connection with God, a connection which he offered to me in my early childhood and became embedded in my soul, remaining even during my wandering in the wilderness in my late teens and early twenties.  How I longed to have his gentle hands, the hands of a physician who heals, draw me back in welcome, even when I questioned the reality of God.  I do not remember ever saying “There is no god,” but I do recall wondering how a god of love could be as cruel as to allow all of the misery in the world, and more personally in the loss of my own father.  Even when I began my journey back to faith, which coincided with the Baptism of my oldest son, God the Father was a distant, unreachable entity, not unlike my own father.

            This Advent, as I have read and reread the parable of the Man Who Had Two Sons and Henri Nouwen’s two books and Timothy Keller’s book on the parable, I have had my heart broken and re-made by God who welcomes me as Father and calls me to become Father.  Nouwen speaks to this: “But Rembrandt who showed me the Father in utmost vulnerability, made me come to the awareness that my final vocation is indeed to become like the Father and to live out his divine compassion in my daily life.” 

            My inclination is to continue to see myself as the child who needs to be forgiven, who desires to be welcomed home, who pleads for compassion.  Even though I have been ordained for 38 years—today is the anniversary of ordination as a Deacon—I still carry in my heart and soul my need to be cared for.  Whether that is as Younger Brother who wandered away from home and homeland or Older Brother whose jealousy and anger erodes his very soul, I still want daddy to comfort and console me, to run out to welcome me home, to remind me that I am the beloved heir of all he has.

            As I reflect on my 68 years of life, God has done exactly that again and again, calling me to grow up into the full stature for which I was created.  God has moved me all along to become as Father in the parable, welcoming, forgiving, offering compassion.  As my younger son said over two years ago, all my life has been a preparation for the work I am called to offer in Fort Worth.  As we potentially wind down the litigation with the likelihood of regaining access to church buildings and probably a goodly number of folk who did not leave those buildings, we are being offered the opportunity to live out this parable “in real time.”  Do we behave as Older Brother and demand public repentance and hold these brothers and sisters at arm’s length while we test their veracity and worthiness?  Or do we run to greet them as children who were dead and now are alive, lost and now found? 

            For about a year those of us in leadership struggled over just who it was that was returning.  Certainly we could say we were coming back to the buildings, but those who left the Episcopal Church and stayed in the buildings were coming home to the Episcopal Church.  With the guidance of the Holy Spirit our language of reconciliation has dropped the word “return” to describe what any of us are doing, and we now speak only of reunion.  The parable offers reunion between Father and Younger Brother, between Father and Older Brother, between the two sons, and ultimately for all the household and the community as well.  How well we live into the parable is yet to be seen, but we know we have a clear picture and a pattern offered by Jesus himself.

            Moving apace toward Christmas Eve and the celebration of the birth of the Christ Child, we are reminded that God sent his Son into the world to save sinners, not to condemn us.  This incredible gift of Life and Light calls us to bring life and light into the dark places we find ourselves confronting.  Decades ago, Bishop Fulton Sheen, a Roman Catholic Archbishop and later Cardinal, had a television program that was incredibly popular.  His theme song began “If everyone lit just one little candle, what a bright world this would be.”  As you read the parable today, open your eyes to find a place to bring the light of Christ which has been given to you and make someone’s world brighter.  Pray to be available to the Holy Spirit when called to be a witness to the Light.

Parent and child

While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with pity.  He ran to the boy, clasped him in his arms, and kissed him.

Prodigal Son - drawing by Rembrandt

               Christians for almost 2000 years have spoken of God as Father, following the pattern of relationship and prayers of Jesus.  In the prayer our Lord taught his disciples, used almost every time we gather for public worship as well as in private prayer, we begin “Our Father….”  In John’s Gospel we hear Jesus refer to his Father in intimate words and tones which comes from knowing he is loved.  At his baptism, Jesus hears, “You are my son, the Beloved.  With you I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:11)  The familial and paternal bond is inescapable throughout the Christian Scriptures.  We can find hints of that same bond between God and Israel as well, but it becomes most obvious in Jesus’ life.

               Every person who professes to be a disciple of Jesus is called to enter into this father-child relationship with God as well.  The difficulty for me, however, is that our earthly paternal relationship is the model that either guides or impedes such a relationship.  I have known too many parishioners whose fathers have been abusive, creating great difficulty in seeing God as Father.  Many others, whose father was not abusive but absent through divorce, can only see God as a too-distant figure. My own father was in many ways an absentee parent; he lived in our home but was preoccupied with his profession, medicine.  My dad was a small town doctor with a 25-bed hospital.  He was an old fashioned physician who still made house calls, mostly in the evening.  We used to joke that he worked 28 hours a day, 8 days a week.  It was not uncommon for him to leave the house by 7AM, come home just long enough to eat supper, return to the hospital for an emergency by 7:30 p. m. and not come home again until midnight or later, and then repeat again the next day.  There was precious little time with us kids.  Then to top it all off, he died of a heart attack when I was almost 16.  I was really angry with God the Father for many years until a very astute spiritual director helped me understand that I was really angry with my own father and needed to forgive him first.

               All of us have been parented by mothers and fathers who were themselves parented by less than perfect parents, continuing back for untold generations.  After First Man and First Woman were expelled from the Garden of Eden, difficulties arose between parents and parents and parents and children.  Why did Cain surmise that his offering was less pleasing to God than that of his brother Abel?  After all God says to Cain, “If you do well, will you not be accepted?” Did it have anything to do with his father Adam and the way Cain felt he was accepted?  Psychologists could have a field day with that (and probably have).  It goes on and on down through all of Salvation history as recorded in the Hebrew and Christian Testaments.

I am still working on my own relationship with God the Father.  I have never had problems with the Son Jesus, and not so much with the Holy Spirit, as with Father God.  For much of my life the Transcendent God, the distant One, the unapproachable One, has been, perhaps, my defense against allowing the loving Father into my life, holding off the fear of being disappointed yet again.  One would think that after 43 years of raising children and grandchildren, working as hard as I know how to change the pattern with which I grew up, would have opened me to see the relationship with God the Father in a new way in my own spiritual life.  And it has changed to some degree, but not as much as I would desire.

               As I have been praying through our parable of the two sons and their father, I have come to some new insights about fatherhood in general, about God the Father, and about my own relationship with my father and with my Father in Heaven.  Both Henri Nouwen and Timothy Keller have called me, each in his own way, to “come home” to the place where I am acknowledged as beloved son.  In the next couple of days I will explore some of those insights and hope that perhaps something resonates for you.

               Again, as we rush toward the great festival of Incarnation, I encourage you to slow down and take a few minutes to read aloud the parable of the Man Who Had Two Sons in Luke Chapter 15.  Read slowly and explore the relationships between the man and each of his sons, the servants, even the man who hired the younger son, the undescribed and unspoken mother, perhaps even those who entered into debauchery with Younger Brother.  Let the Scriptures speak to you today about your life in Christ and how you, too, are the beloved child.  Let us look forward together to the one who reminds us of what it is to be the beloved child.