Learnings - still! - from the parable of the Prodigal Son

It doesn't appear in the Sunday lectionary readings but once every three years:  4th Sunday in Lent, Year C.  However, the parable of the Lost or Prodigal Son in Luke 15 always has been powerful for me.

Years ago, when I was serving a church in northern Illinois, the church treasurer – a 4^th generation member – stole a little over $120,000 from the church.  (Reading the situation last fall at the United Methodist Church in Marcellus brought back lots of memories for me!)  In the process of working through all of the implications of what happened, one of our church's Mariners groups asked my wife, Caroline, and me to come and talk with them.  They all were of the same generation as the Treasurer. They all had stood up in each others' weddings.  And they were in deep pain.  We talked with them about this parable in Luke 15.  I reminded them that if the Treasurer, like the Prodigal Son, came back to us in repentance, we had to receive him with open arms of welcome and forgiveness.  However, I also talked with them about the fact that we, while not like the Prodigal Son in the parable, were like the elder brother.  Would we be resentful if the "prodigal" returned home, or would we be able to share the joy of God that he had "come to himself" and returned?  It was a tough time for that congregation.

This parable has a depth to it that is profound.  I was reminded of that again this afternoon as I was reading a quote from Henri Nouwen's book, The Return of the Prodigal Son.  Here is what Fr. Nouwen wrote:

"For most of my life, I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God.  I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life - pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures - and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself.  I have failed many times but always have tried again, even when I was close to despair.... It might sound strange, but God wants to find me as much as, if not more than, I want to find God."

I don't know about you, but it always surprises me to think that God longs for me, seeks me out, waits for me to return when I have wandered, and runs to welcome me home, throwing a lavish party that I neither need nor deserve.  I constantly strive to remember that.  This parable helps.

I guess that's why this thing is called "grace."

Fire Stations and Churches

You perhaps read the tragic article last week about the man who died 15 minutes after firefighters in a D.C. station refused to cross the street to help him after they were summoned by his daughter and passersby.  (The CNN article is here).  For five years I was the lead chaplain of a fire department, and this news report both saddened and infuriated me.  I'm sure it's possible that there are firefighters out there who simply are too tired, too jaded, too burned out, or too lazy that would have allowed this to happen... but that would surprise me.  Firefighters by and large are incredibly compassionate, competent, dedicated servants of the community.  I only can imagine that there was some sort of tragic miscommunication or absurd misunderstanding of rules and regulations that led to this incident happening.  My prayers are with the family and friends of the man who died, and also with the fire department there that will have to live with what happened.

The story did make me think, however.  What would have been the scenario if the building had been a church instead of a fire station?  Do people view the church as somewhere they can run to when they or a loved one are in trouble?  Oh, to be sure, they come to us for funerals and for weddings at times.  But what about other times of crisis... or transition... or doubt... or pain... or danger?  Do people see us as a place of help, or refuge, or, as our worship spaces declare, "sanctuary?"  Do people see us Christians as people who are safe enough, or who care enough, or who are responsive enough that they would think to come to us in times of need?  If so, how would we respond?  If not, then how can we continue to carry the name of Christ in our identity as communities and individuals?

And, to take this one step further, is our Presbytery a place where teaching and ruling elders, and church members, feel that they can come?  If so, then thanks be to God!  If not, then what needs to change in our system... and what needs to change in each one of us?

As you can tell, this made me think.  What do you think?