Inviting others into the story

I will arise and go to my Father…

               Almost 40 years ago I knew a wise older priest who had been a Jesuit for many years.  He told the following story which he claimed happened to a friend of his, but I always suspected was autobiographical. 

               A young priest on staff of the Cathedral was assigned to preach on the following Sunday.  As it happened, the bishop was present that day which made the young man extremely anxious.  He had been taught in homiletics class to preach without a manuscript, and should one forget the memorized sermon, return to the text and repeat the text, emphasizing a different word than when first read.  At sermon time, the young priest mounted the pulpit and quoted the text, emphasizing “I will arise and go to my Father.”  Unfortunately he was so nervous that all his preparation failed him, and he remembered nothing of his sermon.  Pausing he tried again: “I  WILL arise and go to my Father.”  Still nothing.  “I will ARISE and go to my Father.”  Each pause became longer and more dramatic as he repeated the text emphasizing the next word.  When he finally said “I will arise and go to my FATHER,” and still could remember nothing he had prepared, he decided to end what had by then become a farce and simply said AMEN.  He left the pulpit in shame and returned to his sedilla near the bishop.  As he passed the old prelate he heard, “Give the old man my regards.”

               For decades, as I have read, studied, and preached on this portion of Luke 15 I am reminded of this story told by a mentor and challenged to say something more profound than simply repeating the single phrase text.  However, this Advent as I have been reading the parable each day, I am often moved—sometimes to tears—by a different word or phrase of Jesus’ teaching.  When that happens, I stop and re-read the sentence again, like the young priest stressing a different word for emphasis and discovering some new meaning.  Even though the story I repeated has some great humor, and for those of us who are preachers a lesson of humility, I have discovered a depth of learning and discovery by taking the teaching of an unknown homiletics professor of long ago and applying it to my study this season.  This is in some ways similar to the “African Bible Study” method that I learned from Verna Dozier 30 years ago at a conference on ministry development in Dayton, Ohio.  In that method, one member reads the full text to be studied to the group.  “What word or phrase grabs you or gets your attention?” begins the group study.  After each person has had the opportunity to expound on his/her thoughts, the text is read a second time by a different person.  This time the question is, “Where do you hear Good News?”  Again each person is invited to respond without interruption by others.  The third and final reading of the text is offered by yet a third person, followed by the question, “How is this passage calling me to live out my life in Christ?”  

I have found this study method to be a profound opportunity for Christians to dig into any portion of Scripture without having to have in-depth exegesis or expertise to discover insights.  That is not to disparage other opportunities to learn from those who have expertise in a didactic setting.  This is simply an opportunity for every Christian, in a community setting of a few other Christians to gain some insight and understanding which they might otherwise miss.

               A suggestion:  before the end of Advent gather together 5 or 6 friends—members of your congregation, or family, or even neighbors who do not attend any church—and try this study method using the parable of the Man with Two Sons.  Hearing the story read by different voices and listening to the insights of others may bring new depth and meaning to your own Advent.  And who knows where that might lead.               

All the wrong places

I was lookin’ for love in all the wrong places

Lookin’ for love in too many places

Searchin’ her eyes, lookin, for traces

Of what I’m dreamin’ of

Hoping to find a friend and a lover

I’ll bless the day I discover,

You—lookin’ for love

               Music has been a huge part of my life since I was a small child.  I love the rhythms and rhymes of almost all forms and styles of music, instrumental, choral, solo, classical, country, rock, and even some hip-hop.  I can appreciate the art of composing rap but I listen to very little of it.  But my very most favorite is bluegrass—both traditional and “new grass.”  Part of the way I relate to situations, something that just comes naturally for me, is that I am reminded of lyrics which seem to fit—sometimes less than more—what is happening at the moment.  At times this is a blessing, although I have been told by others it can be a curse.  I have even considered writing a treatise in which popular music, or perhaps just one song of whatever genre, is subjected to a theological exploration.  Maybe someday I will do that.

             

  As I have been reading, rereading, and reflecting on the younger son in our parable, the words 

of a song, made famous as part of the sound track of the 1980 movie Urban Cowboy, have echoed in my head.  I included the chorus as the opening lines, as I am sure some/many either never heard the song or have long since forgotten it.  The story line of the film concerns a young man from Spur, Texas (in the Diocese of Northwest Texas, by the way) who leaves home and travels to Pasadena, Texas, to make enough money in order to return home, buy some land, and settle down.  He discovers the nightlife of Gilley’s, at that time the largest indoor honky-tonk in the world, and begins a stormy relationship with a local girl.  We never know if his dreams are fulfilled, but he does lose himself along the way and does have a homecoming of sorts with his girlfriend.  I would not make too much of a parallel between the parable and the movie, but the song offers a poignant pointer for us.

               Younger Brother rejected the love of his family and community, and especially his father, and set out “lookin’ for love in all the wrong places”.  How often have I acted in exactly the same way?  My leavings have not been as dramatic as Younger Brother, but I have wandered far from my spiritual home at times, seeking the unconditional love that I need most from those who can only give me conditional love. 

               I suspect I am not the only one reading our books on the parable of “the Man with Two Sons” who has “erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep” as the traditional words of the Confession of the Book of Common Prayer say.  Today would be a good time to begin the return, to acknowledge that we are in a far away country, starving for what our Father has to offer, and not wait another day.  Whether the journey has been lengthy or simply a few steps, we all can use a reminder that we are the beloved, that the Father welcomes us home.  Advent offers us the opportunity to prepare for the celebration of the Incarnation, and part of that homework is cleaning out our interior heart through self-examination and offering ourselves to God once again.  I am now using the song as my Advent examen; how have I been looking for love in all the wrong places?

            

Leaving is not the end of the story

A few days later, the younger son got together everything he had and left for a distant country where he squandered his money on a life of debauchery.

Seventy years ago today an event occurred that was to be called “a date that will live in infamy,” the bombing of Pearl Harbor.  The day of departure of the younger son would have felt to the father much like a day of infamy, particularly if he later heard news of the debauchery of his son.  Many a parent has been left bereft by a child who “goes bad” by entering into a life of drugs, immorality, or crime, or even simple abandonment.  The emptiness of loss can be all-consuming for such a parent; in some ways this loss is worse than death itself, for the rejection by the child is devastating and never-ending.  Even the most hard hearted parent longs for the day when the child will return and a relationship re-established.  How much more so that must be for the Heavenly Father when we wander off into our desert of selfishness and insensitivity.

 Today is also the Feast of St. Ambrose, bishop of Milan.  The story is told that at the election of the bishop of Milan in 374, Ambrose, who was a public official, went to the church where the election was to take place to prevent an uproar likely to take place between the Catholic party and the Arians who had controlled the Church in the city during the episcopate of the previous bishop.  It had been a rainy overcast day, and while he was speaking, the clouds broke, and legend says, a ray of sunlight fell on Ambrose, at which point the crowd, Catholics and Arians, began chanting for Ambrose to be elected.  Ambrose had been raised in a Christian family but was neither trained in theology nor even baptized.  He fled the church and hid at a friend’s house until he was convinced that this was indeed God’s calling.  Within a week he was baptized, ordained Deacon and consecrated Bishop.  He studied theology and became one of the Latin Doctors of the Church before his death in 397.  He left a legacy of support for the poor, Church Hymnody, and influence upon St. Augustine of Hippo.

In a wonderful way, Ambrose’s life and selection as bishop of Milan portray a homecoming of one who ran away and on returning was able to proclaim the greatness of the Father in his own life.

 Many of us have experienced the headiness of leaving home to find ourselves, only to find that the self we were looking for was wrapped up in the family and community we left behind.  I never totally rejected my upbringing, but I did wander into the desert for a time, rejecting many of the conventions with which I had been raised.  I would have to guess that my mother felt at times as if I had abandoned her; but she never gave me up as dead to her heart.  Heart and home were always available to me, even when I rejected them, as did the younger son.  We just have to remember that our leaving is not the end of the story.

Leaving Home

   There was a man with two sons.  The younger son said to his father, “I wish you were dead.  Give me my portion of the inheritance and let me be free from the constraints of this family, this town, and this life.  I don’t want anything to do with any of you anymore.  I want to be me.

Writing about leaving home on the Feast of St. Nicholas feels almost blasphemous.  The patron saint of children, the one who in our culture becomes Santa Claus, evokes in almost everyone warm thoughts of happiness, love, generosity, and family gatherings.  Even if one’s birth family was not idyllic, “Leave it to Beaver”-esque in its living, we all have longings for that version of home and hearth.  The younger son’s leaving violates all of the conventions of familial respect and responsibility. 

The paraphrase I have offered is stark and jarring to hear, but this is, in essence, what the younger son is saying to his father.  Father Nouwen cites work by Kenneth Bailey in which folk from different cultures, “from Morocco to India and from Turkey to the Sudan” reject the younger son’s request of his father for his portion of the inheritance. (The Return of the Prodigal Son, p.35)  Jesus’ original hearers might have been so stunned by the younger son’s demand that it is possible that they heard nothing further.  The request is equivalent to wishing his father dead and rejecting the home and family.  Nouwen continues, “More than disrespect, it is a betrayal of the treasured values of family and community.  The ‘distant country’ is the world in which everything considered holy at home is disregarded.”  (p.36)

As a high school graduate, I wanted to get away from some of my family problems and begin to test my wings, which is part of the reason I chose to attend Sewanee for college.  The University of the South was far from Chickasha, Oklahoma, a totally different setting and culture, and filled with a freedom which I did not think I had at home.  In reflection, I, the older son, left while my younger brother stayed home when he journeyed through his college years.  Perhaps for the first time in my life, upon reflection, I am beginning to understand the younger son’s leaving and the impact of my leaving on my family.

Jesus’ parables are so deep and rich that I do not believe it is possible to plumb the depths or completely enjoy the wealth of meaning for any of us in a single reading or hearing.  I have encouraged you to re-read the parable each day; if you have not done so yet today, go back and listen to how God may be calling you to new insights as you read again the parable of the man with two sons.  Read it aloud, slowly, and hear, perhaps for the first time, the Holy Spirit speaking to you today about your life.  

Beloved

              There is a theme that runs through the books we have been reading, although Keller and Nouwen speak of this theme somewhat differently.  The theme for Nouwen is recognizing that we are beloved; Keller speaks of this insight from the perspective of salvation.  Father Nouwen has written other books which delve into discovering and living into beloved-ness, which are also well worth pursuing.  However, in the spirit of full disclosure, I am a fan of virtually anything Nouwen has written.  The Rev. Charlie Cook, who led the Executive Council retreat this past weekend, spoke of a friend of his who also knew Fr. Nouwen fairly well.  His friend said one time that Nouwen could get anything published, including his grocery list.  I confess I would probably purchase and read that list with great glee.

 Yesterday, I had the privilege of celebrating the Baptism of two new members of the Body of Christ; Olivia is a beautiful four-month-old infant and Dylan is a young man about 25, and both were “born anew” into Christ Jesus.  At every Baptism, I am reminded of the words of the Father as Jesus comes up out of the waters of the Jordan River, “This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased.”  (Matthew 3:17 and Luke 3:22)  Would that we could only remember how beloved we are to the Father!  How different our lives would be, and therefore how different we would respond to the needs of the world.

               I have a friend in San Angelo who is a retired pediatrician.  Dr Ralph Chase began saying to his patients almost 50 years ago, “You know what? You are wonderful and I love you.”  He began that refrain when he realized one day that many of his patients received absolutely no affirmation just for affirmation’s sake.  Out of his own deep piety, Dr. Chase found that he could make a difference in children’s lives not through science, but by proclaiming their beloved-ness to them.   Ralph now offers that same refrain to almost everyone.  Any time I see the good doctor, I try to repeat his words to him before he has a chance to speak; it has become something of a contest for us to see who can offer that affirmation first.  What a joy to know such a saint!

               I have taken for myself a slightly different slant with young children, usually younger than 7 years old or so.  When I have a chance to speak to them I will say, “You are wonderful.  Do you know that?”  Most of the time the children will say, “Yes,” sometime to the protestations of their parents, which I ignore.  I then tell them, “Don’t ever forget it!”

               You see, I am convinced that sometime around age 7, we begin to forget how beloved by God we really are and begin to search for a myriad of ways to show our parents, teachers, friends, and even ourselves that we have some value.  Some use academics, some use mind altering substances, some use their bodies, some use religion.  Some become “younger brothers” and some “older brothers” and some a combination of the two, trying desperately to find or earn beloved-ness.  Both Nouwen and Keller are calling us to listen carefully for the voice of God speaking to our hearts, reminding us that we too are beloved, not because of what we do or don’t do, but just because we are.

               More on this tomorrow.

Digesting the words

               Yesterday when I arrived at our office, Demi Pentiss excitedly asked me if I was aware of a second book on the parable of “the man who had two sons” by Henri Nouwen.  I replied I was not aware of the book, so she gave me her copy to peruse.  Entitled Home Tonight, Further Reflections on the Parable of the Prodigal Son, published by Doubleday, it is a series of meditations taken from talks at a conference/retreat for a group of caregivers from L’Arche communities.  On almost every page is a quotation from Scripture, a writer of note, or from one of Father Nouwen’s books.

       

   In the introduction written by Sue Mosteller, who gathered the notes from the workshop which Nouwen led and published them following the priest’s death, I discovered this quotation from Parker J. Palmer:  “The marvelous thing about learning from a story is that the story never ends, so our learning from it need not end either.”  (From The Active Life, Harper and Row, 1990)  This is precisely why I believe this parable is so wonderful for us in the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth: we are able to see both our personal lives and the experience of the diocese over the past few years unfold and become illuminated in new and deepened ways of understanding.

          Yesterday when I invited you to read yourself into the parable, to take on one of the characters with which you identify, I really asked you to move into the story and discover your own life’s story therein.  In the days ahead, we are going to explore each of the characters and see how we might identify ourselves with all them as well.  That might, perhaps, be a real challenge, for who wants to be as grumpy as the older brother, and some might not be able to identify the internal adolescent younger brother.  Other characters also can prove difficult for some of us.  But please bear with me.

          Finally, if you have not re-read the parable today, I want to encourage you to do so.  See if there is some detail that you might have missed yesterday that leaps out this day.  I never cease to be astonished at how frequently someone has re-written my Bible to include a word or a phrase that was never there before in all of the multitude of times I read a particular passage.  In truth, for whatever reason, I was not ready to hear and receive an insight that just today becomes available to me.  So read again, and slowly.  Digest the words one by one.  We all had the same mother, and she told us to eat slowly, chewing our food thoroughly, not gulping down our meals, lest we miss some of the delights of taste, texture, and aroma.

          As they say in Italia, “Mange.”

Getting into the parable

                 

Before we dig into the parable itself, let us look at the cast of characters—the dramatis personae.  Most of the time, the focus of writers and preachers centers on the younger son, the wastrel, and ignores the world that populates the story.  The problem with such an approach is that Jesus’ parable, which is designed to challenge both his hearers and us, is ignored. 

               The first groups that St Luke lists are Jesus’ contemporary listeners.  Around him are gathered “tax collectors and sinners”, people who were scorned by the religious elite because the former did not follow all of the moral rules and regulations of Judiasm.  For the pious Jew of the first century, these people were outcasts and to be avoided at all costs.  The other group which St Luke describes is the “Pharisees and teachers of the Law.”   These individuals are working fervently to obey every piece of Scripture which deals with life, primarily laws and regulations drawn from Exodus and Leviticus.  Although not specifically identified, we likely would find a large group of the curious, those who had heard of this teacher Jesus and just wanted to hear what he had to say with their own ears.

               Next, we move into the world of the parable itself.  Here we find a father, an older son, a younger son, a man who hires the destitute younger son, various servants of the father, and an unspecified gathering of friends and neighbors.  Any of these individuals or groups could be the focus of reflection, and as we move through the parable we will explore how each becomes a major player in Jesus’ challenge to us.

               One suggestion I have for everyone:  read the parable every day and pray through it slowly.  How is God using the words of Jesus in this parable to challenge you?  With which of the characters do you most identify yourself?  As Advent progresses, make an attempt to discover how each of the characters, including the identified hearers—the tax collectors and sinners, the Pharisees and the curious crowd—is a part of your life.  Take it slow and easy, not every insight will arise immediately.  Spend a day or two, or perhaps more, with each character until each becomes as familiar as a member of the family.  You might even imagine that you are in the cast of a play; see if you can take on the character you are studying and discover the thoughts and feelings of that person or group.  How would you portray the character to someone who has no knowledge of the story? 

               As with all of the parables of Jesus, the parable of the man with two sons has meat enough to chew on for a lifetime.  Although this parable is one of the most familiar, let us together see how it is not only contemporary for us, but speaks to our situation as well.