Just another day at the office.

I’ve had poison ivy for two weeks now. I’ve never had poison ivy before. Some people can roll in poison ivy and never get it. Apparently, I’m not one of those people.

I’ve been on Prednisone (a steroid) to take care of it. One common side-effect of this happy drug is an inability to sleep. Apparently, I get this side effect.

Between the incessant scratching and the not sleeping, this has been the Best. Time. Ever.

Nighttime has been weird. I sleep for a couple hours, but not well. I’ve had a couple strange dreams.

Four nights ago, I had a dream I was a samurai fighting other samurais. We were fighting normal until I “realized” I could easily defeat them by scratching myself.

I woke up ripping my claws into my arms and chest.

A few nights before that, I had an even better dream. It was about the Avengers. I’m not sure if I was one of the Avengers or not, but they were in an epic battle. They were keeping the bad guy from destroying the world and of course sharing witty dialogue all throughout, when they somehow got tricked into thinking if they scratched themselves in strategic places victory was theirs.

Bad idea, Avengers. As soon as one started in (I’m pretty sure it was the Hulk: “Hulk, Scratch!”) there was a domino effect, and it was quickly all over.

They had not won, and I was fully awake and feverishly scratching all over my body.

When I first realized I had contracted poison ivy, we did not know if it was contagious. We heard conflicting reports from different people, and Dr. Google wasn’t extremely helpful, not to mention that each day the itchy bumps showed up in a new place on me.

So for those first few days, I was a leper. Since we were unsure if it could spread, we played it safe.

And I got a taste of what life would have been like for those with leprosy in Bible times. Diagnosis of leprosy was a social death sentence. Not only were you cut off from human touch, you had to actually leave your family and live outside of town. And leprosy doesn’t go away after a couple weeks.

We don’t realize how important something is until it’s taken away. Not being able to hug Dad was especially hard on my kids. To the point of being willing to take a chance.

A few days in, Levi had had enough. I was sitting on the couch, and he came and sat beside me, scooted right up, put his little arm around my arm and nestled in.

I didn’t mind one bit.

One of my favorite stories from the Gospels is in Mark when a leper asks Jesus to heal him. Jesus responds by touching him first, then healing him. Jesus’ action is an illustration of God’s reckless love and odd commitment to humanity. That, through the incarnation, He would willingly put aside His personal well-being in His pursuit of us, His beloved.

It gets me every time.

Life is messy, and getting involved in someone else’s life is messy. But we do it anyway, because people are most important.

However there are still certain segments of society that for all practical purposes could be classified as untouchable. Whether it’s the homeless or the homosexual, we tend to keep our distance. Because it’s safer.

Do you know who else tends to be overlooked?

Middle schoolers. Do you remember your middle school years? You might not because you’ve worked so hard to block those memories out. For 99% of us, they were probably not the most pleasant years of our lives.

Middle school is rough, and for some reason (okay, maybe there are legit reasons) most adults tend to keep their distance from middle schoolers.

When they need us the most we are not making ourselves available to them.

They need more than their parents, teachers, coaches, and pastors. They need adults, with no agenda, making an investment in them. Adults who know their names and are taking an interest in their lives.

They need our encouragement and support. They need to know we are beside them and not going anywhere no matter what. They need to know we believe in them.

If the next generation fails to be the kind of doctors, lawyers, parents, and Christians we need them to be, it will not be because they are failures. It will be because we have failed them.

Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.

Photo via Russ Morris

“But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’

So they began to celebrate.”

Luke 15:22-24

Here is lavish grace: unwarranted, unexpected, unparalleled.

Here is sweet forgiveness: reconciling, restoring shalom, putting things back in their proper order.

Here is salvation.

This story reveals how Jesus understands the gospel, and there are two things that stand out from the father’s words and actions.

Salvation is not forgiveness of sins for the sake of sins being forgiven. In other words, it’s not an impersonal transaction in which I receive a ticket to heaven.

Salvation for the prodigal in this story is the restored relationship with his father.

“This is eternal life: that they know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom You have sent.” (John 17:3)

This restoration is complete and final; there is no second-guessing the son’s motives or being skeptical of his future faithfulness. This reconciliation flows from the father to the son; it is solely contingent on the father’s directives. The son cannot in any way make it happen, but he does need to embrace it.

The second thing to note is what is re-created by the father’s actions. The father has set right the things he allowed his son to break in the beginning of the story. The world of the father and the son is now back in order. The father is the father; the son is the son.

Again, this comes from the father and is then embraced by the son.

This is the Story of God. A broken world made right. Grace, forgiveness, and salvation. Restoration and re-creation.

Do you see yourself in this story? Do you see God? Do you see the gospel?

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’”

Luke 15:20-21

The story takes another unexpected turn. Jesus gives us a glimpse of God’s heart.

The father is impatient and undignified in his desire for his son. He has been waiting a long time, who knows how long, refusing to believe his son was not coming back. So when he sees him, he runs to him.

Now we’ve all seen plenty of movies in which two people who have been separated are reunited. And it’s usually the same scene: At first they don’t see each other, then there’s the double-take and recognition, followed by a look of glorious shock, and finally they drop everything and run in slow motion into each other’s arms.

When we read that the father runs to his son, in our minds it’s the natural thing to do. We probably don’t realize how undignified the father is making himself. Running is not something a man of his stature would do. It would showcase his legs, which in that culture was one of the most humiliating things you could do to yourself.

This probably caused another gasp from Jesus’ listeners, these highly respected, sophisticated, proper gentlemen.

Isn’t it amazing what this says about God? He is not concerned about His reputation. He is willing to embrace humiliation if it means He can embrace us as well.

Isn’t that the message of the cross? That God would die in the most vile of ways, alongside common criminals, being spat upon and cursed, and He is not bothered to stand up for Himself. He embraced the cross, because He knew doing so meant He could embrace you and me.

He is impatient and undignified in his love for us, so why do we hesitate to return to Him?

Photo via Matthew Wynn

“When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son, make me like one of your hired servants.’ So he got up and went to his father.”

Luke 15:17-20

The prodigal has come to a point of repentance.

The common understanding of repentance in the Christian world is a 180-degree turn from sin to God. This is true, although it has resulted in limiting the word to the realm of moral transgressions.

Repentance is more than feeling really bad about the bad things you’ve done.

The word repentance, as it’s used in Mark 1:4, Acts 11:18, and many other places in the NT, comes from the Greek word metanoia. Breaking this word down literally gives us “after perception” or “beyond understanding.”

So metanoia, a.k.a. repentance, is a shift in someone’s perception and understanding. Therefore as I go through life, I can experience repentance in my relationship with rap music, Sunday afternoon naps, and pistachio nut ice cream, just to name a few random things. I can repent of anything.

What is happening in the story Jesus is telling is that the prodigal has undergone a radical change in his worldview. His change of perception revolves mainly around his understanding of himself and his father.

He has gone from believing he needs and wants nothing from his father to understanding he must go back to his father. He remembers his father’s care and providence. While he does not feel worthy to be taken back as a son, he knows his father is a merciful man and will likely take pity on him and hire him as a servant.

The prodigal has been re-educated by his experience. He has learned his lesson well and is ready to go home. He hopes to once again dwell in his father’s house, and he is willing to submit to his father’s authority.

He has repented; his worldview has shifted, and he is no longer the same.

Photo via Nadjib Aktouf

It’s hard to learn from others’ mistakes. We may cognitively understand the path we should take, we may be well aware of the dangers that lie on that other path, the history of human foibles and failures may be embedded deep in our minds, but we still choose to learn life’s lessons the hard way.

“You can’t tell me how to live!” is the cry of the toddler, the teenager, and everyman.

The prodigal son was no different.

We pick up our story here:

“Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went out and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.”

Luke 15:13-16

He thought he knew best. He forsook his upbringing, the way of his father. He embraced every whim and desire he had, and it was fun while the fun lasted. It might have been short-lived, but those temporary pleasures took the edge off his loneliness and emptiness.

Until the party stopped.

And he realized he was in need.

The physical needs must be met first, and here Jesus goes into detail of how low life had become for this young man.

I don’t need to remind you that Jesus is speaking to Jewish people, so as they imagine this story, the prodigal is of course Jewish.

He has traveled to some horrible Gentile country and is living among vile pagans. And the only job he can get is to feed dirty, unclean animals that his people will not touch. No self-respecting Jew would ever take a job like this.

Again I imagine Jesus’ listeners would gasp at this turn in the story.

This prodigal, who was once a rich young ruler, has hit rock bottom.

But it is here at the bottom that the most prideful and the most stubborn are finally broken and willing to look up.

Photo via Emre Danisman

Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.”

Luke 15:11-12

When you read a passage like that, how do you hear Jesus’ voice? Is he speaking casually or earnestly? Does he have the big booming voice of a hellfire preacher, or the soft-spoken voice of a father to his infant son?

Do you ever wonder how his listeners are responding? We get no sense from the text here. Verse 13 on just continues the story Jesus is telling. But what he said most likely shocked his audience, even though we don’t necessarily get that from the passage.

You are probably overly familiar with this story. You have probably heard before how the younger son is not simply asking Dad for money to go live on his own. He is saying something much harsher.

Essentially he is saying, “Father, I want nothing more to do with you. I want to completely sever our relationship. You are dead to me.”

This would not necessarily shock Jesus’ audience. This would not be unheard of. There were sons that hated their fathers. There were sons that wanted their fathers dead, some who had even killed their fathers themselves. It was rare; it was tragic, but not unheard of.

What would have shocked them was the father’s response, which Jesus seems to mention so casually, as if it’s the most natural reaction to the prodigal’s request: “So he divided his property between them.”

In the real world, this is crazy. Who responds like this?

“You want me dead, child of my heart?

“Though this will kill me, I will be as one dead to you: you are released from all your obligations as my son, and I will immediately bestow upon you your share of all I presently own.”

In the face of such outright disrespect and hatred, what human father would respond like this? And with such humility and strength of grace?

This would have caused the Pharisees to audibly gasp. Especially because they understood Jesus’ story was not about a human father, but about the Most High God.

And the prodigal’s request coupled with the father’s response reveals the great mystery of life.

When God created earth and humanity, He did something remarkably vulnerable. I’m not sure vulnerable is the right word, but it’s the best word I have.

God made it so we would rule the earth for Him and under Him, but He also made it possible for us to say to Him, “I want nothing to do with you. I want to completely sever our relationship. You are dead to me.”

He made it possible for us to, in a sense, kick Him out of being in charge here on earth. To put it another way, He allowed us to create hell on earth.

This is the worst about the human race. The worst about you and me. We have all had the same conversation the prodigal had with his father.

And God always answers the same.

Though His heart breaks each time, He lets us go.

Though He controls all, He willingly relinquishes controlling us, even though it leads to our death.

He lets us leave, but the story does not end here…

Here it is: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your mind, and all your strength.

This is heavy because Jesus qualified it as the most important thing for us to be sure we’re doing.

That’s right. At the top of the list is not eat your vegetables, wash behind your ears, or mind your p’s and q’s. It’s love God with the entirety of your being.

Since it’s so heavy, maybe we should give it some extra attention. So I have. And I’ve discovered there’s another reason why it’s heavy.

I can’t do it.

I fail. And I’d wager to say you fail, too.

What’s the point of leaving this as a command that I can’t keep? Instead, let’s take this verse and turn it into a prayer, and in time it may once again become a command. Or to be more accurate, it will have become a way of living.

I am deformed and diseased. I am not whole. I am not well.

I lay myself on the altar of the Almighty Surgeon, the Great Physician.

Take Your scalpel and open me up. Do not reel back at what You see, but remove what must go and replace what is dead.

Begin with my mind; leave no corner untouched. Sweep it, scrub it until it is clean, then etch Your words on the walls of my mind. Fill and renew my mind that I may see You and Your world with 20/20 vision.

Remove my heart. It stopped beating long ago. Quick, put in a new heart, that heart of flesh. That heart that beats along with Your heart. Now I see what you see, and I care about what you care about.

Break my will. Then reset it so that it is straight, so that it matches Your will. And when my will does not match Yours, break it again. And again. So that finally I say, “Not mine, but Your will be done.” And I begin to do what You want me to do.

Sew me up and breathe the Breath of Life into me. Fill me with Your Holy Spirit. Give me Today my daily bread: the mind, heart, and will of Jesus the Christ.

I am no longer the same. I am a new creation. Remade in the image of the Son.

Amen.

How would you turn the Greatest Commandment into a prayer to God?

The purpose of being a Christian is to trust God with your life.

It is not just to trust God to forgive your sins; it is to trust Him with every aspect of your life.

The first few generations of Christians were not persecuted and executed because they were trusting God to get them to heaven. It was because they were trusting God with their lives in a way that was causing societal upheaval around them.

They were insurrectionists. They were living radically different than the rest of the world. In making Jesus their Lord and King, they were rejecting the rulers and systems of the day.

What about us? What does it look like for us to move from only trusting God with our hearts to trusting Him with our lives?

What are the things we trust in? Turn to?

We turn to food to give us comfort. We turn to entertainment to escape from the reality and stress of our lives. We turn to alcohol and drugs (even prescribed ones!) to numb us from the pain in our lives.

We turn to our money to provide for us. We turn to insurance, investments, and our government to give us security and stability.

We turn to Facebook for validation. Some of us turn to our blogs for significance. Ahem!

We can take anything and turn to it in a way that God is jealous for us to turn to Him alone.

This was the case with Abraham.

Abraham loved his son, Isaac. He doted on him. He loved him much more than his own life, possibly more than anything.

And God commanded Abraham to take his son high up a mountain, build an altar to God, and sacrifice Isaac on that altar. And Abraham obeys, and in his obedience gives God what God requires: absolute trust and dependence on Him for all he needs.

God stops Abraham before he brings the knife down, because it was not the child’s death that God wanted. It was Abraham’s heart.

God did not want Abraham to get rid of his son. But God wanted Abraham to be able to live without his son. God does not want us to live as hermits in the desert, away from everyone and everything. But He wants us to be okay with that if He would call us to it. He wants us to be able to survive and thrive with Him alone.

Think of the things you turn to in your moments of need. Maybe it’s a couple hours of TV. Maybe it’s a nice, cold one. Maybe it’s bacon.

God might not demand you give those things up. But are you willing to put anything and everything on the altar? Are you willing to offer it all up? And potentially give it up forever?

If we were stripped away (like Job) of all the people and things that bring us happiness, purpose, and security, would we be okay if all that was left was us and God?

Learning to trust in Jesus alone, turning to Him instead of ________, this will bring us into a deeper relationship than we’ve experienced before.

By doing this, we may begin to live differently. We may begin to look strange to those around us. We might be called wackos or worse. But we may also discover we’ve finally found the living water that truly quenches our thirsts.

We didn’t stay long at the hospital. From there, we met a group of friends at the movie theater to watch October Baby. This is a pro-life movie with a strong storyline.

To be honest, the movie was longer than it needed to be, too much of the dialogue was cheesy and over the top, and I really wanted to give Bo Duke a haircut. But aside from these things, it was a good movie with an incredibly important message.

"You're just jealous of my amazing hair."

One of the best parts of the movie comes during the credits. It’s a message from a woman who explains why she had an abortion when she was young and seeking to establish her career. She felt it was her only option, that not even adoption was viable because being pregnant as an unwed mother would have killed her career. Unfortunately, that is the world we live in.

Abortion is a hot topic right now, and I think that’s a good thing. To me, it comes down to one question: when is a baby a baby?

If we can prove this mass of tissue, this fetus, is a human child, then that trumps any reason (with the rare exception of saving the mother’s life) for having an abortion. Science has done much to show us what is happening inside the mother’s womb, but those who are pro-choice have proven tough to convince.

I understand the importance of choice, but do we realize we are a society that has legalized murder?

Many run to science to support claims of man-made climate change or evolution, even though the science is not conclusive and the jury’s still out. But when it comes to the issue of abortion, it is less about science and more about a woman’s freedom.

Many run to our nation’s Bill of Rights to fight for equality and the rights of the homosexual community, and there are many voices crying out against the worst injustices happening in our world. But again when it comes to the issue of abortion, it seems we just don’t care enough to even speak up. And I’m as guilty as the next guy.

I watched a half-hour video a few days ago called ’180.’ It makes the comparison between the Holocaust, which the general German population ignorantly went along with, and abortion.

If you’re interested in watching the video, you can see it here. Just a warning, it is graphic and made me sick to my stomach.

We, the church, are called to stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves. To speak up for those who have no voice. To defend the defenseless.

There are none more defenseless, more vulnerable or endangered, than the unborn. And if we don’t do something, who will?

The church in Germany quietly went along with things until it was too late. Will we repeat their mistakes?

Have we already?

Good show.

It doesn’t seem like a show I’d enjoy (it’s like a Jane Austen novel apparently), but it sucks you right in with its depictions of the lives of lords and their ladies and the servant class in the early 1900s.

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Every time I watch a show or read a book, I identify with certain characters. With Downton Abbey, I identified most with the father, Robert Crawley, and his servant, Mr. Bates.

We typically identify with the main characters and the heroes. It’s perfectly normal.

In the Story of Life, I see myself as the main character.

Other characters come in and out of the story with subplots, but they exist to give my character more meaning. The show is ultimately about me; I’m king.

Taken to its worst extreme, people are only a device to be used. They exist to serve me.

This makes sense because in the movie version of Life, which has been in production since the day I was born, the cameras have always followed me. When I leave a scene, that scene ends.

You might have thought this story was all about you, but I assure you, it’s all about me. I do care about you and your storyline, and our storylines may intersect and even become interwoven, but the grand narrative will always be about me.

Kinda like Jenna Maroney from 30 Rock.

“It’s about you in a way that makes it more about me!”

But some of us have realized the Story of Life is actually the Story of God.

This story is about Him. He is the main character. He is the hero.

What is particularly amazing about this story is that even though the cameras are on Him, His eyes are on us. His ears are turned to us. And He is for us.

He is fully engaged in our tiny stories, and He desires our storylines to be so interwoven with His that they blur into one long, thick thread.

But I cannot forget He is the main character, not me. Not only am I not the main character, I’m not even second cousin to the main character. I’m not the witty neighbor who helps solve problems. I’m not the goofy friend with the popular catch phrase.

I’m just an extra. I might not even have any lines. Worse yet, there might only be half of me in the shot. Or maybe I’ll have to point out that those feet you just saw walk by… that was me.

That’s hard to come to grips with. I’ve lived most of my life thinking it’s all about me. I need help remembering it’s not.

It’s about Jesus Christ:

In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all peoples, nations and men of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.

– Daniel, the prophet (7:13-14)