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Whenever we talk about the topics of sin and forgiveness, one of Jesus’ most memorable parables often comes to the front of our minds. Following the parables about a lost sheep and a lost coin, Luke 15:11-32 paints the picture of God’s heart through the story of the Lost Son (or Prodigal Son).

In one of my favorite books, Henri Nouwen brings depth and nuances to this captivating story. As Nouwen encountered and interacted with God through Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, he began to resonate with each character in the painting, cultivating a deeper understanding of what it means to be God’s Beloved and be at “home” with Him.

We shared one of our favorite quotes from the book with our Lesson 5, describing how each of us can easily choose a “distant country,” far away from the loving embrace of our Father.

I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found. Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist in looking for it elsewhere? Why do I keep leaving home where I am called a child of God, the Beloved of my Father? I am constantly surprised at how I keep taking the gifts God has given me—my health, my intellectual and emotional gifts—and keep using them to impress people, receive affirmation and praise, and compete for rewards, instead of developing them for the glory of God. Yes, I often carry them off to a “distant country” and put them in the service of an exploiting world that does not know their true value. It’s almost as if I want to prove to myself and to my world that I do not need God’s love, that I can make a life on my own, that I want to be fully independent. Beneath it all is the great rebellion, the radical “No” to the Father’s love, the unspoken curse: “I wish you were dead.” The prodigal son’s “No” reflects Adam’s original rebellion: his rejection of the God in whose love we are created and by whose love we are sustained. It is the rebellion that places me outside the garden, out of reach of the tree of life. It is the rebellion that makes me dissipate myself in a “distant country.”[1]

Nouwen also paints a portrait of what “home” looks like, which is living as God’s Beloved. Although it can feel elusive and unattainable to some, the invitation is to take a step towards home, embrace the hope of what is possible, and listen for the voice, the only voice, that can give you your identity.

Home is the center of my being where I can hear the voice that says: “You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests” – the same voice that gave life to the first Adam and spoke to Jesus, the second Adam; the same voice that speaks to all the children of God and sets them free to live in the midst of a dark world while remaining in the light. I have heard that voice. It has spoken to me in the past and continues to speak to me now. It is the never-interrupted voice of love speaking from eternity and giving life and love whenever it is heard. When I hear that voice, I know that I am home with God and have nothing to fear. As the Beloved of my heavenly Father, “I can walk in the valley of darkness: no evil would I fear.” As the Beloved, I can “cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out devils.” Having “received without charge,” I can “give without charge.” As the Beloved, I can confront, console, admonish, and encourage without fear of rejection or need for affirmation. As the Beloved, I can suffer persecution without desire for revenge and receive praise without using it as a proof of my goodness. As the Beloved, I can be tortured and killed without ever having to doubt that the love that is given to me is stronger that death. As the Beloved, I am free to live and give life, free also to die while giving life. [2]

 

[1] Nouwen, Henri J. M. The Return of the Prodigal Son (p. 43). The Crown Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

[2] Ibid, 38-39.

C.S. Lewis was a brilliant and creative mind, penning great apologetic works (Mere Christianity) as well as captivating tales (The Chronicles of Narnia). He has pointed people to the profound truths of who God is through various mediums.

In 1942, Lewis wrote an incredibly insightful book, combining his skills of apologetics and creative writing. Screwtape Letters imagines conversations happening in the spiritual world of “devils”. The book is a collection of letters written between Screwtape and his nephew Wormwood as he mentors him in the fine art of temptation and deception.

Screwtape Letters sheds light on the complexities and personalities behind the lies we believe, the accusations we face, the distractions that entangle us, and the temptations we battle.

I have been amazed by the insight in how we can be drawn away from God’s possibilities by deceptive counterfeits, giving our lives to good, worldly values instead of embracing what God offers.

Here are a few quotes from the book. Notice how Satan’s tactics can fly under the radar and unknowingly impact our experience of a loving God (or Enemy in the eyes of Screwtape).

Which one stands out to you? What do you learn about your own vulnerabilities? How can you bring God and others into that reality?

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When it comes to our approach to Scripture, we can learn a lot from farming. Here is an insightful excerpt from “Eat This Book” by Eugene Peterson:

I begin with a poem by Wendell Berry, one of our century’s wiser guides, in which he uses the small farm on which he lives and works as a metaphor for form as formative. For forty years, in a succession of novels and poems and essays, Berry has been re-ordering our Christian imaginations to cultivate totalities, to live life as a spiritually organic whole. In his poem “From the Crest” he works his metaphor in a way that invites reflection on the form of Holy Scripture as it gives form to the Christian life.

I am trying to teach my mind
to bear the long, slow growth
of the fields, and to sing
of its passing while it waits.

The farm must be made a form,
endlessly bringing together
heaven and earth, light
and rain building, dissolving,
building back again
the shapes and actions of the ground. [1]

What Berry sees in his farm as a form, I see in Scripture as a form. Think of the farm as an organic whole, but with boundaries so that you are aware and stay in touch with all the interrelations: the house and barn, the horses and the chickens, the weather of sun and rain, the food prepared in the house and the work done in the fields, the machinery and the tools, the seasons. There are steady, relaxed rhythms in place.

I did not grow up on a farm but did grow up in a farming country and was often on farms and ranches. My father was a butcher and so we were often on the farms buying and slaughtering beef and pork and lamb. I’m sure there are exceptions to this, but as I have thought through my early memories of being on those farms, I can’t remember a farmer who was ever in a hurry. Farmers characteristically work hard, but there is too much work to do to be in a hurry. On a farm everything is connected both in place and in time. Nothing is done that isn’t connected to something else; if you get in a hurry, break the rhythms of the lands and the seasons and the weather, things fall apart – you get in the way of something set in motion last week or month. A farm is not neat – there is too much going on that is out of your control. Farms help us learn patience and attentiveness: “I am trying to teach my mind / to bear the long, slow growth / of the fields, and to sing / of its passing while it waits.”

If anything or anyone is treated out of context, that is, isolated as a thing in itself apart from season or weather or soil conditions or the condition of the machinery or persons, it is violated: “The farm must be made a form, / endlessly bringing together / heaven and earth, light / and rain building back again / the shapes and actions of the ground.”

Holy Scripture is a form in just this way: a fenced-in acreage of words and sentences of many different sorts and kinds, but all of them integral to the work that is being done, working in long, steady rhythms in which we, the readers, participate but don’t control. We meditatively enter this world of words and give obedient and glad assent. We submit our lives to this text that is “endlessly bringing together / heaven and earth…” [2]

[1] Wendell Berry, Collected Poems (San Francisco: North Point, 1985), pp. 190-91.
[2] Eugene Peterson, Eat This Book (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), pp. 38-40.

The James Webb Space Telescope images give us a front-row seat to the wonders of Creation. The image below captures the Cosmic Cliffs from the Carina Nebula, located some eight million light years from earth.

What looks like jagged mountains and glittering stars is the edge of a massive, superheated “cavity” where stars are formed. This image’s tallest “peaks” are about seven light-years or 41 trillion miles high.[1] And this is one tiny speck hidden amid the heavens above.

Take a breath and pause for just a moment. This is truly awesome!

When an ancient, Middle Eastern king reflects upon the astonishing splendor of the heavens—a universe that we now know is about 40 billion light-years across— he poses a question that still boggles the mind some 3,000 years later:

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In a few weeks, we launch our 19^th ministry season. We’re excited about sharing significant next steps for Theodyssey. And we’ll do that in the coming weeks.

But right now, it somehow feels essential to just sit on the tailgate of my truck and share the most critical thing you need to know about Theodyssey.

With our world in the throes of extraordinary conflict and polarization, we need to pause and remember what got us here and what we can rely on going forward.

Our confidence is in Jesus Christ and Him alone. And I want you to know precisely why I say that.   Read More

Laura’s recent story on our storytelling podcast, We’ll Leave The Porch Light On, caused me to reflect on a difficult event in my own life. I want to pass along something I’ve found helpful for knowing Jesus’ presence amid the storms of life.

When overwhelmed by anxiety, fear, and loss, we are left feeling numb, even abandoned.

When we have no words, sacred art offers us a way to reengage with Jesus. Sacred art is a visual prayer that can spark embers in our heart like kindling put to match. Soon a gentle warmth and simple presence settle upon us like a weighted feather quilt. Read More

Most of my mentors these days are age six and younger.

While entirely unaware, these mentors regularly reveal mysteries of the human heart, including capacities long forgotten or ignored. They remind us of how God created us, and consequently, what has been lost.

For example, what is “wonder” and how to respond to it.

On September 19th, my grandson Jeffery David (I’m still negotiating name order) entered this world prematurely at 29-weeks and barely three pounds. His first car ride was an ambulance to the Newborn Intensive Care Unit, where he spent two whole months (with mom and dad alternating shifts all day). Read More

Finding our Home in Christ. I want to believe it’s possible, but it often feels elusive for me. Finding Home (learn more HERE) is as much for me as anybody. While on a constant journey from “head to heart,” the idea of intimacy and connection with God is a real struggle. As I’m digging into this with you, I wanted to share some things that have been helpful for me along the way.
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Are you a “porch without a house?” 

Let me explain.

YouTube sensations Rhett McLaughlin, 43, and Link Neal, 42, host the Good Mythical Morning channel and Ear Biscuits podcast, having earned more than $30 million dollars. After being missionaries and Campus Crusade (now Cru) staff members, they have walked away from their faith. Read More