Let them come home!
Two images regularly grip my attention. One is God
coming down the steps of heaven with a baby in his arms to give to the
world. The other is that baby now a young man, running back up the steps
of heaven with a sinner by the hand. Bringing him home. This encapsulates the gospel.
David's beloved son Absalom had sinned grievously and was in exile.
The continued severance was costly and it was interfering with kingdom
business. Joab sent a wise woman of Tekoa to David and she said (2
Samuel 14:14), "God does not take away life; instead he devises ways so
that a banished person may not remain estranged from him." This too
echoes the gospel.
Judging by how often we fail in this area it must be hard for us to remember with passion that we're all children of the one holy and loving Father. It must be very difficult for us to remember that we're all sinful
children of the Holy Father. I say it must be very difficult for us
because we really do shut one another out and treat one another as
strangers, and worse. The elder brother in Luke 15 finds it easy to call
the prodigal "your son" when he thinks the father hasn't been stern
enough. He finds it difficult to remember that they're brothers of
the same loving and generous father who divided the inheritance between
them both. "Shut her out!" is the hiss from a sinister quarter. "She
isn't worthy of her place in your family." Refuse to believe that and let her come home.
Pronouns
The Lord said,
"Say, 'We'."
But I shook my head,
Hid my hands tight behind my back and said,
Stubbornly,
"I."
"Say, 'We'."
But I shook my head,
Hid my hands tight behind my back and said,
Stubbornly,
"I."
The Lord said,
"Say, 'We.' "
But I looked upon them, grimy and all awry.
Myself in all those twisted shapes? Ah, no!
Distastefully I turned my head away,
Persisting.
"They."
"Say, 'We.' "
But I looked upon them, grimy and all awry.
Myself in all those twisted shapes? Ah, no!
Distastefully I turned my head away,
Persisting.
"They."
The Lord,
"Say, 'We.' "
And I
At last,
Richer by a hoard
Of years,
And tears,
Looked in their eyes and found the heavy word
That bent my neck and bowed my head:
Like a shamed schoolboy then I mumbled low,
"We, Lord."
"Say, 'We.' "
And I
At last,
Richer by a hoard
Of years,
And tears,
Looked in their eyes and found the heavy word
That bent my neck and bowed my head:
Like a shamed schoolboy then I mumbled low,
"We, Lord."
Not "My God" but "Our Father."
written by Karel Wilson Baker, From "Contemporary Prayers and Readings," Prayer Book Press of Media Judaica.