Dear Luke,
What great stories! I, too, love these illustrations and often
tell them to children—it’s a great way for them to picture God’s love, and it
often helps me, too, to remember that God’s love for me is such that he comes
in search of me when I am lost, rather than waiting for me to stumble back into
the right path.
As for the word hate, I’d love to
ignore it and hope that it would slip into the depths of your memory, but I
don’t think that would do your search dignity.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t have a good explanation, and I don’t
hate my family. I doubt that many would
say that this disqualifies me from discipleship. The key, as you helpfully lifted up in the
closing of your last letter, is to read it in conjunction with the rest of the
stories. What does the whole witness to,
and how does that help us interpret this passage? When you and I think of hate, we often think
of violent clashing and virulent arguments.
We think of people consumed with distaste for one another. We think of people determined to destroy each
other. But I don’t see any of that in
Jesus’ life or teachings. I don’t see
him as a many filled with hatred for anyone, and I don’t think the disciples were,
either, and there were plenty of people who opposed him, who rejected him. When the Gerasenes asked him to leave, Jesus
didn’t seem to hate them. In fact, he
usually has a sadness for those who reject him and his love. He seems disappointed that they are missing
out on the life-giving relationship that is possible only with God. He has harsh words at times, but he is
speaking more about the consequences of their choices than his feelings toward
them.
So how does all that focus our
conversation around the word ‘hate’? It
helps me, Luke, to understand that Jesus isn’t telling us to spill contempt
upon those we love. Rather, Jesus wants
us to love God to such a higher degree that everything else comes second. We’re still called to love and serve those
around us, neighbors, family and enemies, but we don’t love them more than God,
and if they ever make us choose between the two, we’re called to love God. But hate them? Jesus doesn’t seem to be busy practicing the
kind of hate we imagine, and so I let the rest of his life and teachings
interpret that section. Perhaps I am dancing
around it, but that is the way I hear it.
The next story to relate is yet
another tale of love, of God seeking the lost, and I am eager to tell it! It’s a story of a man choosing the wayward
path and how wondrous restoration can be, a story of generosity and grace, with
stubbornness tossed in for good measure!
Picture a man with two sons. The younger one shockingly asks for his
inheritance early, while the father still lives. What is even more shocking to me is that the
father is gracious enough to divide his property between the two of them, and
the younger son receives what will be due to him at the time of his father’s
death, one-third of everything. The
story gains another twist when the son, only a few days later, gathers his
belongings and flees for a far-off country.
At home there must have been a season of mourning by the father, but I
think the older son, still amazed at the brashness of his younger sibling, must
have viewed all of this with bitterness and resentment.
The younger son did not find life
the way he had imagined it in this distant land. His money soon disappeared as his lifestyle
delved into self-indulgent debauchery.
The world knows this sad tale all too well, of a blessing being wasted
on a youth who makes poor choices, and this young man spent everything. To make matters worse, a famine soon appeared
in the land, and the youth went from wealthy to needy faster than he would have
thought. Such was his desperation that
he found the only job he could, feeding pigs, hardly honorable employment in
those times. Even the pigs ate better
than he did.
It was not long before his eyes
were opened to the sadness of his plight.
He looked around and realized that the servants of his father lived
better than he did in his current state, and he resolved to return to his
father and acknowledge his sin, throwing himself on the mercy of his father and
asking to be taken on as a hired servant rather than a son. Being taken back as a son was beyond his
wildest dreams at this point—he merely hoped that his father would have
kindness enough to offer him a meager wage and decent living.
So he began the long trek home,
giving him plenty of time to ponder exactly what he would say to his
father. When he neared the place, his
father, who may well have been watching the horizon for years for any sign of
his long-lost son, saw him and reacted not with anger at the boy who rejected
his family but with compassion and ran to meet him before the young man could
ever reach the house. The young man was
swallowed up in the arms of his father, who kissed him with gladness.
The young man, however, was
overwhelmed by this undeserved display of emotion. He acknowledged his sin, against both God and
his father, and declared that he did not deserve to be the son of his
father. He could barely finish his
sentence, however, before the father had ordered the servants to clothe the boy
in the best robe and sandals and have a ring upon his finger. You and I react in shock to the loving
reaction of the father, Luke, and I am certain the young man has even greater
shock at the free generosity of the man from whom the son had wished to be
separated. The father simply plowed
ahead with his grace, though, and had the servants kill and prepare the fatted
calf for a feast, that they might celebrate the restoration of the younger son
from death back into life. They had lost
the boy, but now he has been found!
You can probably guess that the
elder son was surprised to hear such jubilation erupting from every corner of
the property. I am guessing he had long
since forgotten about his arrogant younger brother, and if he thought of him I
doubt they were generous thoughts. So as
he drew near to the house he inquired as to the cause of the sounds of
celebration, and a slave informed him that the younger brother had returned and
the father was celebrating the boy’s homecoming with a feast of the fatted
calf.
The older brother, whose workload
may have increased since the younger son’s departure, grew increasingly bitter
with every pitched note of joy that emanated from the house. He was dismayed that the return of this brash
sinner would be celebrated with such freedom and refused to even enter the
house. The father, though, not wanting
the older son to be upset, went out and begged him to come in and join the
celebration, but the older son was having none of it, refusing to take part in
such a gracious party. He felt that the
younger son’s trespasses were all being forgiven and forgotten far too easily,
and told his father that he had toiled for many years, working hard under the
hot sun, never forgetting a task or disobeying an order, and yet such a
celebration as this has never been given.
In fact, the older brother told the father, even a meager celebration
with a goat has not even been offered for the man and his friends. And yet, here is the fatted calf slaughtered
to celebrate the return of the brash boy who wasted the father’s money on
prostitutes!
The father, disappointed at the
stubbornness of his son, begged him to come in and celebrate the return to life
of the son who had been dead. He told
his son that everything he owned belonged to the son, and that he was always
with him, but he was compelled to celebrate the fact that his son had been lost
and was now found.
Jesus ends the story here, with the
younger son inside the house, celebrating the feast and shocked at how freely
the father poured out his grace upon him, and the older son standing, arms
crossed, before the father outside the house, refusing to enter a feast based
upon such free grace for a sinner. The
father is begging him to come in and join the celebration, and we don’t know
how the story ends.
Jesus leaves this story open ended
because, I believe, that each of us gets to write our own ending. The Pharisees and other religious leaders,
the older brothers who had toiled all their lives to be faithful to God, had to
decide whether or not to celebrate the admission of all manner of sinners into
the body of those who worshiped the Lord and basked in his free grace. You and I, too, have our own decisions to
make about whether we will enter the feast.
The father rushes out to meet us, Luke, and while we may be unworthy and
not expecting such a loving reception, the truth is that we are all invited in,
and we have to decide whether to stay outside, skeptical of such unconditional
love, or if we will let it wash over us and make us new.
Sincerely,
Theophilus
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