Coming out of Lo Debar

Scripture 2 Samuel 9.1-9
David asked, "Is there anyone still left of the house of Saul to whom I can show kindness for Jonathan's sake?" 2 Now there was a servant of Saul's household named Ziba. They called him to appear before David, and the king said to him, "Are you Ziba?" "Your servant," he replied. 3 The king asked, "Is there no one still left of the house of Saul to whom I can show God's kindness?" Ziba answered the king, "There is still a son of Jonathan; he is crippled in both feet." (:1-3, NIV)

King David has just finished battling to secure his throne. Saul, the former king and his son Jonathan had been killed by the Philistines. You may remember David killing Goliath or David’s anointing by Samuel. He had been brought to the palace to play his harp when Saul would be taken by a fit of madness. And David and Jonathan became fast friends. They made a covenant, or more accurately they cut a covenant. You see, a covenant required the shedding of blood. They would have cut their arms and sprinkled crushed rock in the wound so it wouldn’t heal cleanly. It would leave a mark that would be a reminder of their pledge to look out for each other. As Saul watched the friendship blossom, his madness drove him to seek David’s life. David became a fugitive.

But now Saul was dead, and Jonathan with him. As David sat back in the throne for the first time in a long while, he catches his reflection in one of the finely polished bronze mirrors that hung on one of the palace walls. In that mirror he catches a glimpse of the mark on his forearm, and the tears begin to flow down David’s cheeks as he morns for Jonathan. He calls for Ziba, the servant of Saul’s household. “Is there no one left of Jonathan’s family?” Ziba replied, “There is one . . .”

When news reached the capital of Saul’s death and David’s rise to power, a panic swept the city. The boys nanny grabbed the boy and fled from the palace, but in her haste, she fell, crushing the legs of little Mephibosheth. He was a cripple . . .

Where is he? Lo Debar- the howling wilderness, the most decrepit of the Samaritan slums. It was a place where the rejected of society came to live and where the outlaws hide. The boys name means despised one. Can you see him? People mocking him--this Jewish prince on his crutches. His name became painful in his own ears as people mocked him. I can see some of the men, as they would kick his crutches out from under his feet and laugh as he crashed to the filthy street. When they passed the boy would haul himself back up onto his crutches. Children would shout as he made his way slowly down the dirty street, “Here comes the king.” At first he would fight back, but over the years, his pride had been crushed, his will so defeated that he wanted nothing more than to die in the howling wilderness.

So David sent for him. His royal guard rode out of the palace, out of the city and into the howling wilderness of Lo Debar. It was like and episode of COPS. People stuck their heads out the door to watch the horsemen thunder down the street, and the whispers started. Who have they come for this time? Whose life would be forfeit? Who was it that they had come hunting? And the answer followed . . .it’s that little cripple boy, Mephibosheth.

The captain of the guard reined in his horse and swung down off his horse. His men kicked in the door of the little hovel. His boots seemed to resound on the hardened dirt floor as he searched the house. He looked around the room . . . a simple cot and a dirty pile of straw in the corner for a bed, a crude table and stool, no cripple, and then he looked under the table. There was the crippled, downtrodden little man with his withered legs pulled under him and his crude wooden crutches clutched tight against his chest. He knew it was the end.

But instead of reaching for his sword, the guard reached under the table and pulled the boy to his feet. “Stand up, boy. The king desires an audience!” Mephibosheth’s heart dropped even lower. They had decided to have some sport and humiliate him before he died. As they through him across the horse, the boy searched his mind for a way out, knowing full well that he was helpless.

They rode into the palace and hurried him before the king. Mephibosheth did the only thing he could think of. He threw himself to the floor, in his tattered rags, and cried out for mercy. “Behold your servant Mephibosheth”.

David replied, “Don’t be afraid . . .” Mephibosheth didn’t even wait for the king to finish. He bowed down and said, "What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?" (:9, NIV) Not a dog, friends, but a dead dog. He was so defeated that he saw himself as being of no earthly worth.

But David persisted” Don’t be afraid, for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan. I will restore to you all the land that belonged to your grandfather Saul, and you will always eat at my table." (:8, NIV)

You see, Church, it wasn’t who he was; it was who his daddy was. It was about a blood covenant cut before Mephibosheth was even a thought in Jonathan’s mind! The church is often like Mephibosheth. The world is full of people telling us to get to the back of the bus. They don’t like the Church because our standards (or rather God’s standards set forth in the Bible) make them uncomfortable. They want to knock us down and to get us to hide under the table. They say, “You’re nobody! I know what you used to do! I know where you’ve been! And you call yourself a Christian?”

I got news for you. We have a covenant. God didn’t cut one with you or me, because He wanted a covenant that would be incorruptible. So He sent his only son to die on a hill called Mt. Calvary. The blood covenant was cut before I was even a twinkle in my mother’s eye. And the king is sending His Holy Spirit to bring me to Him so I can live in the blessings of my Father’s table. There’s no place like the King’s table to hide a pair of sin-crippled legs.

There are some here today who have been in Lo-debar. You’ve been battling in the howling wilderness, you may even be hiding under the table praying that the problem will pass you by, but God through His Spirit wants to bring you out of the howling wilderness. God wants to pour His blessings out upon us, but we have to choose to come out from under the table. Stand up and be bold in the covenant that Jesus cut for you! Don’t be afraid, for God will surely show kindness for the sake of His son, Jesus. He will restore that which Satan had plotted to steal from you, and He invites you to feast at His table on the blessings of God. Will you come out from under the table? Are you ready to come out of Lo Debar?

The Prodigal Father

This morning, I want to finish this trilogy of sermons on the prodigals by looking at the story from the perspective of the father. We saw two weeks ago that the younger son was a prodigal in terms of his materialism; last week we was the elder son was a prodigal to duty. The father is a prodigal in love and forgiveness.

The story is familiar to most, by now, and I don’t want to rehash it entirely. First, the father’s heart is broken by the request of the younger son, who demands his share. The father had every right to refuse, but he loved his son so much that he relented, dividing all he had between his two sons.

While the younger son was away, the father was full of grief. The scriptures don’t tell us what happened back home during the younger son’s absence, but I suspect it went something like this: The elder son threw himself into his work, trying to make up for the loss of his brother. As the elder son worked, he became embittered by the father’s grief. Why did he continue to mourn for the loss of his brother? The father should just bury his grief and give his full attention to him. These thoughts began to create barriers between the father and his eldest. At first, it was just an iciness in their conversation, then it became more, until they could hardly communicate at all. The son began to work longer, to avoid his father’s company. That is why he was not around when his brother stumbled up the lane.

And the father, filled with love and forgiveness ran down the lane. He fell upon his son, kissing him. In that instant, the grief was lifted and relationship was restored. What could the father do but welcome back his son with the best robe, the signet ring that had set upon the young man’s bed since he left, sandals for his feet, and the fatted calf prepared for the celebration?

It was a time for making merry, but when the father learned his eldest son had returned and not entered in, the father left the party. He begged him to come into the feast. But in his jealousy and bitterness, the elder son could only see that his irresponsible brother was receiving more attention than he himself, and concluded that he was the less loved of the two. This was not the father’s intention, but the jealousy is there nonetheless. He failed to realize that the father loves all of his children equally, and so there was no thought to delay the celebration of the younger son’s return until the elder son was present. Indeed, the father wishes only that his eldest would enter into the joy he has over his son’s return.

It is very clear from the context of the biblical passage that the father represents our heavenly Father. He loves us each equally, and that becomes very hard for you and I to accept.

In a world that constantly compares people, ranking them as more or less intelligent, more or less attractive, more or less successful, it is not easy to really believe in a love that does not do the same. When I hear someone praised, it is hard not to think of myself as less praiseworthy; when I read about the goodness and kindness of other people, it is hard not to wonder whether I myself am as good and as kind as they; and when I see trophies, rewards, and prizes being handed out to special people, I cannot avoid asking myself why that didn’t happen to me.

The world in which I have grown up is a world so full of grades, scores, and statistics that, consciously or unconsciously, I always try to take my measure against all the others. Much sadness and gladness in life flows directly from my comparing, and most, if not all, of this comparing is useless and a terrible waste of time and energy. (Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son, 103)

As we move to practical application, it is easy to see aspects of the elder and younger sons in my own spiritual journey. But often, we see the father as “the other, ” a goal and resting place for my journey. But though I am both the younger son and the elder son, I am not to remain them. Instead, I must become the father. Do I really want to become like the father? (Luke 6:36) You see, returning to my father’s house and living there requires me to make that life my own and in doing so, allow myself to be transformed into the father’s image.

So how do I become like the father? As I see it, there are three ways to a truly compassionate fatherhood.

First, I must enter into grief as a means of compassion. Is my heart broken by sin and the brokenness of others around me? When I consider the immense waywardness of God’s children, our lust, our greed, our violence, our anger, our resentment, and when I look at them through the eyes of God’s heart, I cannot help but weep and cry out in grief. This grief leads me to prayer, where I lift not only the sinfulness of culture before God’s throne, but also the individuals who are caught in the grip of this culture. To be like the father, I have to shed countless tears and so prepare my heart to receive anyone who comes, regardless of their journey thus far.

This leads to the second step: I must walk in forgiveness. The forgiveness of the father is unconditional. Unconditional love requires me to step over: “It calls me to step over my arguments that say forgiveness is unwise, unhealthy, and impractical. It challenges me to step over all my needs for gratitude and compliments. Finally, it demands of me that I step over that wounded part of my heart that feels hurt and wronged and that wants to stay in control and put a few conditions between me and the one whom I am asked to forgive.” (Nouwen, 130) Am I willing to step over? During the civil war, Lincoln was asked how he would treat the rebellious southern states when they were defeated and wished to return. His answer was a model of unconditional forgiveness: I will treat them as if they had never been away.

Finally, I can live a life of generosity. In the parable, the father not only gives his departing son everything he asks, but also showers him with gifts on his return. And to his elder son he says, “All I have is yours.” There is nothing the father keeps for himself: He pours himself out for his son. Am I willing to pour myself out for others? Just as the Father gives his very self to his children, so must I be willing to give my very self to my brothers and sisters.

As I become like the father, I have to believe that all that the human heart needs can be found at home. And I can be there as the one who welcomes the wayward child home. As we close, I want to ask you: Are you ready to become like the father?

The Other Prodigal

I’d like to begin this morning where I left off last week. The story is called the prodigal son – prodigal meaning Recklessly wasteful.

It is a story of homecoming. I don’t need to tell you how the story begins. When we leave home, it is a denial of the spiritual reality that we belong to God with every part of our being. In our leaving, we chose to live as if we do not yet have a home and must seek hard to find one.

The voice of God still calls out to us as his children, “you are my beloved one, upon whom my favor rests.” Yet I can quickly grow deaf to the voice that calls me beloved. I have left the only place I can call home to seek one where none exists.

And then there are other voices: parents, teachers, peers, but most of all the mass media. While these voices seem harmless or even helpful, but when I have forget the voice of my father, the other voices easily begin to dominate my life and pull me into that distant country, a world that rejects everything that was considered holy at home.

For the younger child, the question is simple: to whom do I belong? Do I belong to God, to the World, to myself? The lostness of our contemporary society can only be described by the word “addiction” Our need for home causes us to seek it in the world’s keys to self-fulfillment: the accumulation of wealth and power, attainment of status and admiration, lavish consumption of food and drink, sexual gratification that fails to distinguish between lust and love. These keys are inadequate substitutes for the home we need. Yet as long as we cling to them, we like the younger son will be lost in a fruitless quest for home in that “distant country.” I am the prodigal every time I look for unconditional love where it cannot be found.

Yet there is another prodigal! There was also an older son. How can his story be one of homecoming, for he never left home? While he did all the things a good son was supposed to do, inwardly, he grew farther and farther from his Father.

It is this second prodigal that is the hardest to spot, for he or she looks like a growing, vital Christian. They go through the motions, they look the part, but inside, behind the facade, they are hurting, isolated, and cold.

Outwardly, this person is the model Christian: obedient to both the word and Christian duty, but inwardly, the love and joy that once came from serving has become a yoke of unhappiness and chains of oppression. Service has become slavery, and they are no more at home than the younger child who has wondered away into overt sin.

This person is characterized by judgment and condemnation, anger and resentment, bitterness and jealousy. And the lostness of this older child is harder to find because it is hidden deep behind the elaborate facade they have erected. It is almost impossible to detect because it is so closely wed to the desire to be good and virtuous. Yet the key is the lack of joy.

Unlike the younger son, the fate of the older son’s is an open-ended -- Does he trust in God’s all-forgiving love enough to return home? And if he does, how does he find his way back?

For the younger son, the way home is clear.

1. Come to your senses. The prodigal had to come to his senses. Only when he realized the true poverty of his existence (no money, health, honor, self-respect, reputation . . .) was he willing to consider returning home. For him it was a decision between life and death. (Judas and Peter -- both rejected Christ; one chose death and one chose life.)

2. Seek forgiveness. Whatever you have lost, you are still the Father’s beloved child. The younger child must decide if he or she will allow God’s forgiveness and if they can forgive themselves.

For the older son, the way is equally clear.

1. Allow God to change your heart. See in Luke’s Gospel, the older son cannot return on his own. Unlike the younger son, the father went out to seek him. We cannot change ourselves; we must instead allow God to change us--to soften my heart and make me into his image. And that, saints, requires us to trust. Trust is the deep conviction that the Father truly wants me to come home.

2. Chose to love everyone. The ones to whom we bear resentment are often the marginal of society. Christ taught us in the Beatitudes what God’s attitude was in regards to those who are marginal.

3. Accept the Father’s invitation. The father’s love heals our inner-darkness. Are we willing to step into the light of God’s love and reclaim the rich heritage which is ours to claim? Hear the words of the Father again, “My child, you are always with me, and all I have is yours.” The father divided his goods to them.

4. Beware of the voice of self-rejection. While God calls us home, the darkness within us continues to call out to us. It says, ‘God isn’t really interested in you . . .he just takes you for granted. Besides, you aren’t what you appear to be . . .” At some point, we each must chose to disown that voice and claim for our own the beautiful truth that GOD LOVES ME.

5. Practice the discipline of gratitude. Be thankful for what God gives you. Look for ways to rejoice and praise him. Our gratitude will help us silence the voice of our own darkness and help us focus on the voice of the father that calls out to us . . . can you hear him this morning: You are my beloved. I love you! Won’t you come home?

Will you come home today?

Wild, Crazy Week

I just wanted to put up a short post to apologize for the lateness of this week's sermon. The last week has been a bit overwhelming. Thursday, my two-year old son came down with a high fever and by the weekend, no one here was feeling too well. I took Monday as my day off to get everyone back on their feet, so my normal Monday morning blogging was delayed, and with our quarterly Kid's Church program yesterday, I spent my time in the office getting things together for that. If you are a regular reader, look for the next post at the normal time on Monday.

Peace and blessings

Pastor Tom

The Prodigal Son

This morning, I want to share with you a parable that is familiar to many of you. It has been titled with many different names, but the most common is the prodigal son. The word prodigal means recklessly wasteful. It is a term that could very easily be applied to our own society.

Luke 15:11-24 Jesus continued: "There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, 'Father, give me my share of the estate.' So he divided his property between them.

There is a sense of self centeredness (Give me that which is mine! – When “I” is the central concern in our lives, it will lead us to our weakness and sinfulness.

Notice also the division of property - (Deut.21.17). An extra portion went to the eldest son.

Although it is not directly discussed in the text, the cultural custom of Ketsatsah – the ceremonial cutting off from a village or family, would have been exercised here. In effect, once the younger son left, he was dead to the family and to the village, cut off forever.

13 "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.

The word that is translated as “wild” is (as-o’-toce). This is the only use of this word in the New Testament and therefore, there is some dispute among scholars as to how it should be correctly translated. According to Strong’s, it can either describe a person who is 1. Given over to dissipation; or a person who is 2. Recklessly wasteful and wildly extravagant. Whether or not the boy was “wild,” he was definitely reckless, being much too free with his money. After a time, the money ran out. But no doubt the prodigal continued to enjoy himself with his new found friends, living off the good will of those he had treated well. Yet such a state of affairs was not to last. The scriptures tell us that:

14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

There is an old song that says, "Into every life a little rain must fall," and for the prodigal, the proverbial rain came at the worst possible time. As his fair-weather friends turned inward, he found himself in need. At first, he still allowed his stubborn pride to rule him. He hired himself out to a citizen of that country, feeding the pigs. Two things that are important here. First, hiring oneself out meant that one became a slave, giving up his or her freedom and social status in exchange for a sum of money. But to understand how far the prodigal had fallen, one must consider the writings of the Talmud, which stated that anyone who fed swine was to be considered cursed. But. . .

17 "When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.'

When he came to himself. Thank God we can eventually come to the end of ourselves and realize the desperate need that we have and how foolish we have been. We often fail to realize how desperate the situation had become for the young prodigal. The young man realized that he would die if he remained where he was. What we fail to understand, in our ignorance of that culture, is that returning home was not much better. Having been cut off in Ketsatsah, any servant of the house, any member of the village could stone him on sight. In effect, he said to himself, “I will try to make it to my father, and if he will have me, I’ll live. If he rejects me, at least it will all be over.” It was not a happy journey back home, cold, barefoot, hungry, and wondering if it was all in vain.

Can you see him as he reaches the end of that trip? Thin and frail, weak as a kitten, he stumbles up the lane. As he passes the first field, a few of the servants look up and study him—a beggar, they think; but then one of them catches a glimpse of his dirty face. The cry goes up and the servants drop their tools as they scramble to find rocks. The prodigal breaks into a run, with all the strength he has left, and as he runs, the scripture picks the story back up.

"(20b)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 prodigal hears someone running towards him, and as he looks up, his father runs right into him, knocking him to the ground. And the father throws himself at the boy. But instead of the punches and kicks the boy expects to receive, the father shields him from the rocks and kisses him. The prodigal fought through the confusion and began his plea. How many times had he fallen to sleep practicing it, weighing each word of his confession?

21 "The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.'

But the father cut him off before he could finish. He pulled the boy to his feet and began to shout orders to the servants, who stood around in wide-eyed wonder, dropping their stones harmlessly upon the ground.

22 "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. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate.

This is important, for the father’s commands tell us much about the future the prodigal would face, as it does the future of any repentant sinner who comes to the Father for forgiveness.

The best robe-to cover his rags and convey honor upon him. God does not just give us a robe-he insist upon giving us the best.

Next, a ring was set upon his finger-the signet ring, which brought with it the authority of the family. In essence, the giving of the signet restored what had been broken in the ketsatsah. He was again a son, a member of the family, with all the rights and privileges that came with it.

The sandals might seem an afterthought, but they are perhaps the most important, for only free men wore shoes. His freedom was being restored. There is an old Negro spiritual (All Gods Chillun got Wings) that states:

I got shoes, you got shoes
All o' God's chillun got shoes
When I get to heab'n I'm goin' to put on my shoes
I'm goin' to walk all ovah God's Heab'n

Finally, the fatted calf speaks of rejoicing and celebration. It is not with anger, judgment, or condemnation that the prodigal is welcomed back, but with genuine thanksgiving.

There are some here that have wondered far from home. And maybe today God is calling you to come to yourself and to come home. He wants to give you that robe of righteousness, which will cover all your sins. He wants to restore your relationship, giving you the power and authority of a child of God. And he wants to set you free from the slavery of sin, whose chains seem to wrap around us so easily. You see, Jesus is calling you, softly, tenderly, he says, my child, come home.

If you are here today, and God is calling you, I want to ask you come as we close. There may be others that simply need to pray; this alter rail is always open. Won’t you come?