bryanregier

What do you think of when you think of a self-made person?

Maybe you think of somebody who lives “off the grid,” Amish style. Or, you might think of somebody who doesn’t depend on Madison or Washington; or somebody who doesn’t punch a clock, because their money works for them; or somebody who is prosperous enough to share with others.

All of this self-dependence is a good thing, if you can get it. But, there’s also a kind of self-dependence that won’t work—especially with God. In fact, it will leave you isolated, from God and from everybody else.

Luke 18 records several parables about coming to God. The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (:9-14) talks about the heart attitude we must have when coming to God. As it turns out, all this has much to do with how we feel about other people.

Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector (:10). Temple worship in the Old Testament included two daily sacrifices. And, while individuals could pray alone at many other times, the picture here is of public worship.

The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector (:11). Don’t be too crazy hard on this Pharisee. Pharisees were the teachers of Israel. Their job was to model worship and reverence toward God’s Word. This guy got the modeling part right, but it’s his attitude Jesus condemns. Notice how he’s shouldered his way into what was probably the inner court. Now, he stands “by himself,” alone. And, he preaches at the Tax Collector, probably wondering why the most-hated of sinners was in the outer court at all, and not against the eastern wall with the other ceremonially unclean worshippers.

I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get (:12). This is all about comparing himself to others. The Law required fasting once each year on the Day of Atonement. Our Pharisee fasts twice each week. The Law, at that time, required gifts of ten-percent on commodities like oil, grain and wine, but our guy gives ten-percent on everything that enters his mouth—and wants others to know about it. His assumption is that he’s righteous because of what he does. And, what he does is more than what others do and is certainly enough to please God, he thinks.

Notice how the parable leaves him standing by himself. He won’t be accepted by God, and he’s isolated from other people.

But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner! (:13) Perish the thought! But, imagine that Nazi Germany ruled America. And then, there’s an American Nazi who comes to collect your taxes. How do you feel about that guy? That’s how people felt about this tax collector! But, he comes to the Temple. He stands in the outer court. He won’t lift his eyes to God or others. He beasts his chest in remorse, a common practice among women at a funeral, but only seen among men at the account of Jesus’ death on the cross.

But, the Tax Collector falls on God’s mercy.

I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other … (:14a). The parable began with two going up. Now, it ends with one man going down. And, this one man is “justified” before God. That’s a special word. It’s related to the Hebrew word “to cover” or “to atone for”. God accepted the Tax Collector, not because he turned up at the Temple to sacrifice, but because he threw himself on God’s mercy in humility.

And, don’t miss the detail at the end. The Tax Collector went “to his house”. That’s where his people are. He came alone, stood alone, but received acceptance by God, and then went down to be with others.

Jesus ends this short parable with two lessons: For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted (:14b). First lesson: those who lift themselves up (think they’re good enough the way they are and are willing to be judged on what they do), these won’t be accepted by God. And, they’ll remain alone.

Have you ever known church people like that? If that’s been your experience, or if you don’t join much with others in church and you think churches are filled with people like that, I (for one) get what you’re thinking. We at Woodland get that too. In fact, many of us used to be like that. But, this parable shows us that it shouldn’t be that way. It’s not the Gospel, and it doesn’t have to be that way!

Lesson two: those who humble themselves will be lifted up and accepted by God. And, they’ll join others accepted by God.

Here’s the Good News! Since the telling of this parable, Jesus took our offense against God on Himself. He sacrificed His own life, and God accepted this sacrifice. And, when we’re willing to be judged on what Jesus has done, we can come to God. Later in the New Testament the Book of Romans tells us what this means for everybody: … for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus (3.23-24).

Those who “get” Jesus know they come to God only in humility to be lifted up in Christ. 

A couple of action steps remain for us. In Christ, we get to come to God in humility. If you come to a place like Woodland Community Church, you need to know that you are among sinners. We’re Tax Collectors, not Pharisees. In fact, some of us are recovering from addictions. Some have been in jail. My goodness, some of us even struggle with pride. We like to say that, apart from the work of Jesus, there’s no difference between us and everybody else. And, if you’re ever in the Northwoods and join us, you won’t be judged. God has judged us with Christ, and Jesus’ righteousness is enough for all!

Second action step: we get to come to God with other people. At Woodland, and any other church that “gets” who Jesus is, you don’t have to stand far off. Instead, because of Jesus, you get to stand right in the midst of God’s people.

Now, that’s a good word. So, don’t try to be self-made with God this week. Instead, come to God in humility. And, come into the midst of God’s people, to be lifted up with others in Christ.

 

Have you ever come to your senses to find that it’s too late? Too late to study for the class … an “F”. Too late to pay the rent … eviction! Too late to talk to your husband or wife … divorce court!

Too late!

Jesus’ parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus combines the artistic landscape of parable with the hard teaching that our choices in this life have eternal and irreversible consequences. And, that we can (and must) respond to Jesus today. But, someday, it will be … too late!

Jesus speaks this parable in Luke 16, a section in the gospel that, on the surface at least, contains a number of passages on money and material possessions. We’re told in verse 14 that “The Pharisees,” Jesus’ hearers, (along with His disciples), “who were lovers of money, heard all these things, and they ridiculed him” (ESV). This was the problem of the religious leaders, at least on the surface. As Luke 16.14-17, a kind of bridge passage, then talks about dependence on the Word of God, we can see that material possessions point us to our ultimate dependences. Are we depending on God, or money?

The parable begins in this life (:19-21). A certain Rich Man had everything. Purple clothing, expensive. Linen garments, down to his underwear. The Rich Man feasted himself, inside his palace and without regard for those outside.

Outside the gate of the Rich Man’s palace had been laid a poor man, named Lazarus (a combination of the Hebrew words for “god” and “trust”). Lazarus trusts God. Lazarus is a cripple, covered in sores. He wants only the sop tossed from the Rich Man’s table. But, the dogs get to the scraps before Lazarus. Then, the dogs lick Lazarus’ wounds.

Lazarus is lower than a dog. In the popular religion of the day, he would have been regarded as cursed. The Rich Man, blessed by God.

The parable moves to the next life (:22-23). Here, there is immediate reversal! The poor man dies and goes to Abraham’s side, the place of the righteous dead, depicted in Judaism (as well as by Jesus, Matthew 8) as a banquet. The Rich Man dies and is buried. His earthly life ends well. But, then, he finds himself immediately in Hades, the place of the unrighteous dead. Here, he’s tormented, and (in the creative, parabolic world) he sees Abraham and Lazarus.

The Rich Man negotiates (:24-31). The Rich Man calls to Abraham, “Father Abraham! … I see you have my servant Lazarus there. Send him to help me!” (:24). Interesting is that the Rich Man considers himself on good terms with the great patriarch of the Jewish race. More interesting still is that he clearly recognizes Lazarus. He is guilty and knows it.

Abraham responds: “You took your ease in the last world, and your contempt for Lazarus in his poverty showed your lack of righteousness. Now, there is a great chasm fixed between us … It’s too late!”

The Rich Man negotiates again. “Send Lazarus then to my five brothers, so that they won’t come here” (:27). Catch the accusation here. I didn’t know! It isn’t fair! Somebody should have told me about hell, and stuff like that!”

Abraham responds again. “Your brothers have the Bible, along with its teaching about how treatment of the poor indicates heart righteousness.”

The Rich Man responds once more: “No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent (:30, ESV). In other words, God’s Word isn’t good enough. They need a miracle! I needed a miracle!”

“If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets,” Abraham responds with finality, “Neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead” (:31, ESV).

Among the lessons we draw from the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is the central teaching that God reveals Himself in His Word, so that nobody can say they didn’t have a fair chance. How many of those who haven’t trusted Christ say they would believe everything in the Bible, if they could only see a miracle? Ah, but the miracles didn’t matter for Old Testament Israel, did they? And, following Jesus’ teaching here, even His own resurrection won’t prove the truth of God’s Word to those who don’t want God.

By contrast, those who “get” Jesus recognize their accountability to God from His Word and depend on Jesus … before it’s too late. 

So, take a bit of time to read through this (in many ways) most curious of Jesus’ parables. Then, do something curious yourself. Maybe, you should take a stroll through a cemetery. Give thanks for those buried there. Thank God for your own short life. Remember that, short of Jesus’ second coming, nobody escapes this life alive. And, take joy in the Gospel, knowing that those who trust Christ will be with Him at the moment of their death (Luke 23.24; Phil 1.23). This is Good News in this sobering parable!

After your reflection in the cemetery, include the Gospel in regular conversation with others. God’s Word is powerful, and our mental and spiritual worldview maps should include every part of life. If you eat, include others in your thanks. If it rains, tell your friends how God is caring for you. Don’t be like the Rich Man who only cared for what he could see in this life. Our existence includes this life and the next. And, the way we go about handling material possessions and treating the poor indicates a great deal about what or whom we’re trusting.

Finally, circle up with some others. Read the parable again and talk through these questions:

What about this parable do you find alarming or disturbing? Do you like it? Why or why not? 

What does this parable reveal about what we’re tempted to trust in? What about the excuses of the Rich Man? Are we at all like him? 

How much do you value the Gospel that is included in God’s Word? Do you think of God’s revelation of Himself in His Word as your final authority? Or, are you looking or waiting for something else before you trust God?

What are some other practical things you’ve done that help remind you of the brevity of life? 

How have you been able to include the Gospel in your regular, normal and “non-weird” conversation with those who don’t yet trust God? 

 

Have you ever felt powerless?

Maybe, you put a charge on a credit card that you later couldn’t repay. Or, you told a friend something you wished you hadn’t. Or, you were with a hurting person, and you just didn’t know what to do.

Terrible feeling, isn’t it? Made you weary, didn’t it?

The Parable of the Persistent Widow in Luke 18 is a story for those who are weary in their powerlessness. Jesus tells this parable as part of a larger conversation with the Pharisees that begins in 17.20. Then, He pulls back (apparently) to explain His teaching to His disciples.

The wider conversation involves the coming of the Kingdom of God and when it will come. Naturally, the Pharisees (and, probably, everybody else) thought that Messiah would ride in, kick out the Romans and be ruler of the whole earth. They weren’t far from wrong. But, they didn’t factor in the cross!

Jesus responds by teaching that the Kingdom is present with the King, who is “in their midst” (7.21). And, Jesus teaches that the fulness of the Kingdom will only come after Messiah has suffered (7.24-25), after which time evil will be destroyed (7.27-30).

The Pharisees’ problem (and ours, sometimes) is that they didn’t recognize Jesus’ two comings. Till Messiah returns God’s people will suffer and wait expectantly for His coming … “the days are coming when you will desire to see one of the days of the Son of Man, and you will not see it” (7.22).

In the parable itself, we have an unrighteous judge who neither fears God nor “respects” man (ESV). The word can mean “be ashamed”. In the shame-based eastern culture of the parable, the judge makes no effort to help others save face. He almost certainly takes bribes, and he doesn’t care.

The Widow is the other character. In the man-dominated world of the Middle Eastern court system, the fact that she must represent herself indicates that she has no man in her life. She is certainly too poor to pay a bribe. Perhaps, there’s a dispute over her late husband’s estate. A state of injustice exists.

She does have one advantage: she can abuse the judge! Because nobody takes her seriously, she can stand on the perimeter of the court and hurl insults at the judge. A man would be kicked out. Nobody cares about the widow.

The judge finally gives in, because he fears the widow will “beat me down”. The term is one taken from boxing. It means, literally, “to beat black and blue”. “Oi weh!” we imagine the judge exclaiming. “Enough already! Bring her here. What does she want?”

In Jesus’ commentary from verses 6-8, two lessons and a question come from this parable. In the character of the judge we learn that unlike the unrighteous judge, God will bring justice to His people. The logic is taken from a Rabbinic rhetorical teaching method, the Hebrew name for which we would translate as “from the light to heavy”. It’s a “if this … then how much more?” kind of argument. So, if even an unrighteous judge—who doesn’t care about God or people—will reward perseverance with justice, how much more will the one, true God give justice to His people He has chosen?

The second lesson comes from the Widow. Through her character we learn that the LORD will be patient with believer’s persistence in prayer while they endure injustice until Jesus comes again in power to vindicate them.

“Will not God give justice to his elect?” Yes, He will. “Will he delay long over them?” No, He won’t, but ” … he will give justice to them speedily” (verse 8a).

But, will God’s people persist in prayer till Jesus comes back? “Will he find faith on earth” (verse 8b). That’s the question.

Like the Pharisees, we sometimes mistake this time between Jesus’ two comings for the fulness of the kingdom. We experience powerlessness, and we say “Why does God not change my situation now?!”

In so complaining, we forget that Jesus hasn’t come back yet. And, why? Second Peter 3.8-9 helps.

But, do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance (ESV).

God is yet gathering “the elect” to Himself. But, until Jesus comes again, we persist in prayer. What keeps us from growing weary is knowing that God is not like the unrighteous judge. In fact, since the time of the telling of this parable, Jesus has taken up residence with the Father, again. Romans 8 describes how He intercedes for us:

Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than than, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. 

That’s really Good News! Not only are we, unlike the Widow, not unrepresented in court. But, Jesus Himself represents us before God! Knowing this keeps us from losing heart.

Those who “get” Jesus persist in prayer knowing God hears (now) and will deliver them finally and completely, very soon. 

 

Find somebody to discuss this parable with. Talk through these questions:

What is the hardest part for you to take in about this parable? 

 

Where do you struggle in your times of prayer with God? 

 

What about the work of Jesus is most important for you in not growing weary? 

 

What methods for prayer have you found helpful? Prayer journals? A certain kind of list-making or note-taking? What would you recommend to others to help them organize their times of prayer with the Lord and help them be persistent? 

 

 

 

What’s your most embarrassing moment?

Mine might have been the Friday night, now some fifteen years ago, when I was to speak to a gathering of young people near L’viv, western Ukraine. My translator had earlier invited me to the event by telling me I was to “come as you are,” in regards to dress. A very fine American idiom.

But, when Slavic actually wheeled up in his Russian Lada, he was “dressed to the nines,” in suit and tie. Another fine idiom—one that doesn’t go at all with “come as you are”. I sported a windbreaker, Dockers, and (if I remember right) tennis shoes.

“Too late to change,” Slavic said. And, an hour later, we arrived—not at the venue for a youth gathering, but at the Friday evening service of the largest, the oldest, the most formal baptist church in that region of western Ukraine. And, I was the speaker.

Slavic took me to the basement where the senior leadership sat, circled in solemn prayer. They were not dressed “come as you are”; they wore their finest.

The prayer ended, and the oldest and senior man inspected me. After learning that I was “alone” in life (that is, single) and pronouncing me “too old to be alone,” he finished encouraging me and came to the point.

“We have a problem,” he announced, straightening himself in his chair. “In order to preach, you must wear a jacket …!”

There it was. It occurred to me to ask him if he “had a mouse in his pocket”. This wouldn’t have communicated, but WE clearly did not have a problem. Instead, I hung my head in shame.

At that moment, one of the young leaders had an idea. This man went to the closet and pulled out a suit jacket. It was white with blue stripes and didn’t match anything in the building. They called it the “general use jacket.” They kept it on hand, they said, for American visitors. I tried it on. It fit, and the evening was saved …

In that particular place, the “general use jacket” became the means by which I was allowed to address that particular group. In the Parable of the Wedding Feast (Matthew 22.1-14) another means becomes necessary to enter God’s presence.

The story in the parable takes place in an imaginative landscape involving a king, two sets of invited guests, and one unfit guest. These fictive characters point to the real events surrounding Jesus’ ministry, involving the rejection of His own people, the Jewish nation, as well as true followers, both Jews and non-Jews.

National invitation with rejection (:1-7). In the first scene, the king throws a banquet for his son. All the typical guests are invited, but to no avail. They mistreat his servants, and the king responds in judgment.

The wedding banquet imagery clearly points to Christ. Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb … (Rev 19). Likewise, the rejection of the servants points to Israel’s treatment of the prophets. O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those sent to her … (Matt 23). Finally, the judgement received foreshadows that received by the nation at the hands of Titus the Roman in 70 A.D.

International invitation with acceptance (:8-10). The second scene opens with the king’s servants now inviting new guests. They find these on the “main highway,” a word indicating the road out of town where those not belonging to the city congregate. … the time is coming to gather all nations and tongues. And they shall see my glory, Isaiah 66 says. Those gathered now are “good and bad.” That is, they aren’t selected for their own moral virtues. They come because they’re asked.

And so, the wedding hall is filled. And, we can’t not think of Revelation 7: After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes … 

Rejection of an unfit guest (:11-14). The parable might end here. But, Jesus throws in a twist for those who might think that God has lowered His standard of holiness.

The king in the parable surveys his banquet hall and finds a man wearing no wedding clothes. The king calls him “Friend,” but questions him all the same: “How did you get in here without a wedding garment?”

The man is speechless and without excuse. He is immediately expelled. The garments are the key to the parable. While some commentators claim that the host of such a banquet might have furnished his guests with a garment himself, this can’t be supported from the parable. At the very least, the man ought to have changed into a new garment. The rejected guest was invited, but has by-passed the means to enter. He has taken advantage of the generosity of his host.

Jesus’ point now becomes clear: though God invites everybody to come to Him, only those who come through the proper means will enter His presence.

But, what is the proper means? How do we come fit for the king? Jesus leaves the question in the air, yet to be answered by His first listeners. We, however, have an advantage, as we look back at the cross through the New Testament.

Those who “get” Jesus come to God through the fitness (the righteousness) of Jesus. 

Like the unfit guest, we have no righteousness of our own. Isaiah 64 makes the point: … all our righteous acts are like filthy rags. While invited to come to God, we’re unclothed while we’re yet in our sin.

Ah, but here’s the Good News! Jesus lived a fit life in our place. And, we receive His righteousness by trusting Him. As Romans 3 says, This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe …

The message of the story is that we may come to God as we are. But, we must come through Jesus.

This is a good word in a day when we often hear the Gospel expressed in the language of the giveaway. “It’s free! Just believe,” we like to say.

“It’s grace, and our salvation cost Jesus His life,” we’d be better off saying. And, with that heart of gratitude, we may truly “come as we are” to Christ and so be “fit for the king”.

 

Circle up with a group and consider the following questions:

Have you ever read this parable before? How has your understanding of this teaching of Jesus’ changed with this reading? 

 

Does it bother you that the unfit guest is cast from the banquet? What might this third scene be telling us about the seriousness of being rightly clothed in Christ? 

 

How does this parable change the way you talk about the work of Jesus? 

 

What is a good way to encourage people to trust Jesus without making the work of Jesus sound or feel “cheap”? 

 

 

Do you have any enemies? I hope not … Do you have anybody you’d rather not serve? Different question, isn’t it?

The Good Samaritan is in contention for the best-known passage in all Scripture. Everybody, including completely secular people, thinks they’ve understood this teaching of Jesus. But Jesus never told a parable that wasn’t a cliff-hanger. Every parable requires a life-response. Do we “get it”? Do we “get” Jesus?

Jesus told this parable in context. Luke 10.25-37 recounts Jesus’ dialogue with a lawyer—a theologian of the day. The dialogue unfolds in two rounds—two questions and two answers per round. Each round starts with a peek at the lawyer’s heart: he wants to “put [Jesus] to the test” (:25); he desires to “justify himself” (29). At issue, big picture, is the life of God. “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” the lawyer asks.

“Nothing,” Jesus could have answered. “It’s the inheritance of Israel received by faith and unearned, like every inheritance.” Perhaps, this would have pleased the lawyer. But, Jesus is always pressing into the heart of the matter, and into hearts. He takes the lawyer’s bait, knowing that the lawyer probably considered him soft on the law.

“What is written in the Law?” Jesus asks. The lawyer responds with a perfect fusion of Deuteronomy 6 and Leviticus 19: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” Likely, he’d heard Jesus give this very answer (Matthew 22).

“You’ve got it!” Jesus says, in so many words. “Do this and you will live.” Notice, Jesus has changed the topic from inheriting eternal life to the living of life itself. There’s also a life-response now required of the lawyer. The man wants to “do” something, and he now has his assignment. But, before he does, he wants to renegotiate.

“Who is my neighbor?” the lawyer asks. Very likely, he expected Jesus to separate his relatives and the friends of Israel from the foreigners and the nation’s enemies. What he gets is a story.

The parable is well-known. There’s the Jewish man (assumedly) who is stripped, beaten and robbed by bandits. Kenneth Bailey (Poet & Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes, 1983) notes that the first of seven scenes establishes a pattern of coming … doing … going.  After the bandits, the priest and the Levite will, likewise “come,” but then (not)”do”. And then, they will “go”.

The Samaritan is different. He will come and then do all that the others have not. Unlike the Levite, likely returning from performing religious rituals in the Temple in Jerusalem, he will treat the wounded man, pouring on wine (reminiscent of the recent religious work of the Levite). Unlike the priest, who almost certainly rode a horse, the Samaritan will give the wounded man a ride on his “own” horse. Unlike both, he risked having his baggage and other animals robbed. More, he would have endured ridicule at the inn where he took the wounded man. (Imagine a Taliban fighter turning up at a U.S. Army checkpoint with a wounded child.)

At the center of the seven scene parable, there is verse 33: “But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion.”

Jesus reenters the dialogue with the lawyer. “Which of these three, do you think, proved a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?”

The lawyer knows, but he can’t quite say it. “Samari … The one who showed mercy,” he says, instead.

“You go, and do likewise,” Jesus concludes. We’ll never know, if the lawyer “got it,” or not.

But, do we “get” Jesus? 

 

We’ve been learning in our teaching times at Woodland that the lessons of the parables can be discerned through the main figures of each story.

In The Good Samaritan the combined figures of the priest and the Levite teach us that religion sometimes hinders love for God and service for neighbor. There’s a tendency for church people to think that because we’ve celebrated and learned and given our gifts that we “have done” (think of the lawyer’s original question) what is necessary for life. But, God has a mission. Really big picture here, God’s mission involves the buying back of all creation through the work of Jesus, this received by faith. It’s not that God has a mission for His people, it’s more like God has a people for His mission. Churches like Woodland, then, exist within Gods mission for the benefit of their non-members. A real heart for God sometimes looks pretty ordinary, like binding up somebody’s wounds, because we love God.

From the Samaritan, we learn that we must serve everybody without distinction. This is the point usually made, but (like the lawyer), we like to parse the answer. Secular people want to stop at good works. The result is a Gospel-less Y.M.C.A. religion—fine exercise club at an affordable price, but hardly the life of God. Church people, sometimes, want to stop at speaking the Gospel. Now, to be sure, Gospel witness is no less than verbal proclamation. But, the “half-dead” man of the parable could not hear. Surely, love for God and neighbor looks like ministry in word and deed.

But, now, finally (and usually overlooked), we learn from the wounded man in the road that even my enemy is my neighbor. This, in context, is the point of the passage. The sticking point for the lawyer in the wider dialogue didn’t involve what God’s Word actually said; it involved the identity of those the lawyer wanted to love. Some people, yes, but everybody, no.

The wounded man in the parable woke to learn that he’d been saved by none other than his sworn enemy. And, he learned his lesson, not by doing, but by receiving.

How like us. This final point takes us to the Gospel: … but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us … For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life (Romans 5.8 … 10, ESV).

Like the man in the road, those of us who know Christ have been saved by one who did not wait to be reconciled to us before bringing us to the life of God. Jesus came … and did … and stayed. Now, we go and “do likewise”.

Those who “get” Jesus are those who express their love for God by loving even their enemies. 

 

Circle up with somebody with whom you can share this parable. Discuss the following questions:

How have you grown through this, most recent, reading of The Good Samaritan? 

 

Do you have any enemies? Whom are you being led to serve, as a result of this parable? 

 

What does this parable mean for a church like Woodland? How does this teaching move us outside of our church family and into our community? 

 

What’s the life-response that Jesus is asking of you? 

 

 

Who’s with Jesus? That’s the question we’re asking this summer at Woodland. Some people in the gospel accounts “got” Him, recognized Him, identified with Him. Others missed Him.

True then, true today.

We looked, last week, at two and a-half parables—The Lost Sheep, The Lost Coin and The Lost Son (Act I, 15.11-24). Three separate parables, one point: “Rejoice with me!” the major figures of the three parables say together.

In the most complex of the three parables, the lost son, experiencing his father’s grace, admits his unworthiness, accepts his father’s love and enters into his father’s joy. And, through the figure of the Younger Son, we learn that God’s terms for reconciliation includes grace that preempts our efforts to establish ourselves in His favor.

Wonderful as it is, there’s still more.

Unlike the first part of the parable, Act II (:25-32) takes places in speeches. Listen to the points made, watch how the text is arranged. Jesus hasn’t even made his main point yet to His immediate audience of “sinners” and Pharisees (see Luke 15.1-2). The “smack-down” yet awaits.

Even as the Younger Son has returned from the fields, the Older Son approaches the house, likewise from the fields (:25). Notice, he comes last, like a good foreman shutting down the operation for the day, like a diligent executive, shutting off the lights. As he does, he hears symphonia (the mixed-voiced sounds of laughter and feasting). The fattened calf is slaughtered, “quickly,” we’re told earlier, in time that the workers in the fields might celebrate that evening. “Why was I not invited?” we know he asks.

The Older Son arrives at the house and asks for news (:26-27). We note, along with commentator Kenneth Bailey in Poet & Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes (Eerdmans, 1983) that this is not an American farmhouse, entered through the side and the kitchen. This is a Middle Eastern house with a wall dividing the lane from a private courtyard that stands in front of the house. The invited guests would have been inside. The Older Son stands outside, along with the children and the hangers-on and “keeps on” (imperfect tense) asking for news.

When he learns all that has transpired, the Older Son responds (:28a). He becomes angry and won’t enter the feast. He doesn’t want to distribute his father’s remaining wealth that he supposes to be his. But more, and here we credit Bailey once again, there was a custom throughout the Middle East that the oldest son of a hosting nobleman would stand in the doorway barefoot. It is as though the nobleman was saying to his guests, “Even my oldest son is your servant.”

And again, what was Jesus criticized for, in the opening verses of the section (:1-2). Hosting sinners, right?

The Father leaves his dinner guests, humbling himself, to enter the courtyard, to plead with his son (:28b). The Older Son responds to the Father. “Look (you!) … ” This is hardly the way to address the paterfamilias. “For these many years I’ve served you …” This isn’t son talk at all, but slave talk.

“You never gave me a young goat, so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!” the Older Son continues (:30, ESV).

Note the emotional distance from the family: “This son of YOURS.” And, note the Older Son’s concept of joy that includes a good time with friends and that doesn’t include the Younger Brother or the Father. He’ll have meat without family fellowship; he’ll work to take the benefits of sonship, while living on his own terms. He’ll establish himself apart from the Father. And what was the sin of the Younger Brother?

Tim Keller, in his The Prodigal God (Dutton, 2008), in which he interacts with Bailey’s work and to which I’m much indebted for this reading of the parable, remarks at this point,

The elder brother is not losing the father’s love in spite of his goodness,  but because of it. It is not his sins that create the barrier between him and his father, it’s the pride he has in his moral record; it’s not his wrongdoing but his righteousness that is keeping him from sharing in the feast of the father (35).

The Father responds to the Older Son (:31-32). “Son,” he says, in a unique use of the word (much like I speak to my two sons when their fishing lines are tangled, but they choose to cast them anyway), “You have always been with me, and all that is mine is yours.”

Here, the Father reminds the Older Son that he, the son, is the heir. But, the Older Son is not content. He would, like his younger brother, have the right to distribute his father’s wealth. Is he not likewise saying, “I wish you were dead!”?

“We had to celebrate and rejoice,” the Father responds (NAS reading). Or, literally from the original, “It was necessary to celebrate and rejoice.” Necessary for whom? we might ask.

” … for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found” (:32).

And so, the Older Son, experiencing his father’s grace, claims that which he perceives to have earned, judges his younger brother, rejects his father’s love, and—by refusing to enter the feast—demonstrates that all these years he has been lost in his father’s house.

Thus ends the parable … Or, does it?

 

We noted last week that a parable is much like a joke. Both have a response. To the joke, we laugh (hopefully). To the parable, there is a life response. What response would Jesus ask of His audience? And, of us?

Among Kenneth Bailey’s contributions is his structuring of the second half of this parable. He notes (191) that the scenes move from the Older Son drawing near the feast, to the reason for the feast (spoken by the servant), to the Father’s pleading, to the Older Son’s first complaint. Then, the second half unfolds in mirror image fashion—the second complaint, the continued pleading of the Father, the summary of the reason for the feast, and then …??? What would we expect? Why, we’d expect the Older Son to enter into the feast!

That would be the perfect fairy tale ending the form demands. It might go something like: the Older Son, upon experiencing his father’s grace, entered the house, reconciled with his brother, joined in the music and feasting, and so his father once again had two sons. 

But, our imagined epilogue doesn’t end that way. I’ll credit a missionary to Egypt named Mike Kuhn with another possible ending to the parable: And the Older Son, spurning his father’s grace, raised his staff and struck his father over the head. And, while the Young Son and the guests looked on, beat his father repeatedly until his father was dead. 

That’s how the parable ended in the life of Jesus. And, it was in killing Jesus that the Pharisees and other “older brothers” showed what they really thought of God’s grace.

But, there’s something else missing. How about the theme of seeking? In the The Lost Sheep and The Lost Coin the hero was the shepherd and the woman who assumed the burden of restoration, until the lost one was restored. Who was to do the seeking in The Lost Son? Could it not have been the Older Son?

Philippians 2.5-8 tells us that Jesus ” … did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

Jesus is the older brother that the younger brother in the parable never had. And, as such, He is our older brother. In leaving the Father’s house, He humbled Himself, united us back to the family through the cross and then dispersed the Father’s wealth.

If a parable requires a life response, what is it that the Father is asking us to do? How about imitate Christ in His humility? How about going in search of our lost brothers to invite them to the feast, through Jesus and the Gospel? How about being “prodigal” in grace?

In The Prodigal God Keller reminds us that “prodigal” means “reckless, extravagant, having spent everything”. Have we not misunderstood the word? And, in being glad that the Younger Son finally got it together and thinking that the Older Son needed to shape up, have we often misunderstood the parable?

The real hero of the parable is the Father who graciously, generously, prodigiously disperses His riches to all who would come to the feast.

And so, having come to know the heart of the Father, we must seek others with whom to share the Father’s joy. 

 

After spending some time with Luke 15.11-32, find some others with whom to discuss these questions:

How does this reading of the parable challenge the way you’ve always understood it? 

Where is God asking you to be “prodigal” in your understanding and display of grace? 

Who was it that came looking for you in a distant country before you knew Christ? 

Whom do you need to seek? 

 

 

Who’s with Jesus?

This summer at Woodland we’re considering the parables of Jesus. With each spiritual lesson couched in a story from common life, there were (and are) those who “get” (understand, recognize, respond to) Jesus. And, there were those who miss Him.

Parables are like jokes. There’s the set-up, the punch line, and the smack-down. The irony of the art form (and Jesus was the best of artists) consists in getting the hearer leaning one way, and then —BOOM!—taking him down.

In Luke 15, Jesus responds to a group of Pharisees who reacted to Jesus when he “ate with,” (or, hosted) sinners. Three parables result, two and one-half of which carry the same point.

In The Lost Sheep (:1-7) A seeking shepherd restores his flock. There’s tight structure here. The little prose poem begins and ends with a flock of 100. Likewise, there’s parallel ideas of a lost sheep and a repentant sinner. At the center of the construction there’s the joy of the shepherd: Rejoice with me!

Similarly, in The Lost Coin (:8-10) a woman searches for a lost coin. Once again, the rhyming of ideas (so typical of Eastern and Hebrew thought) produces an idea at the center: Rejoice with me!

Both short parables push Jesus’ pharisaical hearers. They’re asked to compare themselves first to an (assumedly) ceremonially unclean shepherd and then a (culturally, in the day) socially-subordinate woman. There’s a cluster of themes: lostness … repentance … restoration … completion … the burden of restoration shown in the seeking. Both parables are virtually identical—except that the coin is lost, not in the wilderness, but in “the house,” a potentially significant detail.

In both parables, we must ask, Who’s the hero? Certainly not those lost, or having no need of being found, but the one doing the seeking. Hang on to that idea …

At last we arrive at the parable of the two(?) lost sons, commonly known as The Prodigal Son (:11-24). The very well-known story unfolds in five scenes:

The death wish (:11-13). Here, the younger of the two sons asks for his cut of his inheritance. New Testament commentator, Kenneth Bailey, long-time resident of the Middle East and author of Poet & Peasant and Through Peasant Eyes (1983, Eerdmans), reports that in hundreds of interviews with Middle Eastern noblemen the overwhelming response to the question, “What would you do if your son were to make such a request?” was “I’d beat him!” The son wishes for nothing short of his father’s death. Notice, the older son, standing to benefit by up to two-thirds of the estate, merely sticks out his hand.

The downward spiral (:14-16). The son goes to a distant land and divests his father’s wealth. Tempted as we are to see the son’s sins as only moral, the main idea here is that he was simply a spend-thrift, seeking to win friends and influence people with his father’s estate. Rather than seeing him going off with a rock band and a Volkswagen bus, we ought to see him seeking to establish himself among sinners apart from his father. But, “when he had spent everything,” famine strikes. The son attaches himself to a well-to-do resident of the land, who (politely) attempts to get rid of him by giving him the undesirable task of feeding pigs—repulsive for a Jewish boy.

The transition: coming to self (:17-19). “When he came to himself …” (ESV), the son makes up a speech. He’ll move back to his village and work as an independent contractor. Maybe, he can live in town. He won’t have to face his older brother, and he can start paying his father back. The absence of the proper word for servant (doulos) is conspicuous. He’ll be a misthos (hired man). And, as such, he’ll be his “own man”. Important to the story is that repentance does not necessarily take place here. He’s not necessarily sorry, he’s hungry.

The grace of the Father (:17-19). We see the son approach the village and ought to imagine children throwing sticks and stones and mud. This one has squandered the estate among Gentiles. In a Palestinian ritual known as kashasha (so, Bailey), the son has been cut off from his people. But then, “while he was till far off,” his father bares his legs like a schoolboy, and runs!

The joy of the Father (:22-24). At their meeting, the son attempts his prepared speech, but is interrupted. Attempts to kiss the hands of his father are pre-empted by his father’s embrace, and the kiss of Shalom. ” … bring the fattened calf and kill it,” his father orders,”And let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to celebrate” (:24).

And here, so we contend—at their joyful meeting—repentance takes place! The son can’t be anything but a son. And, the father hosts the son and the whole village (Think of Jesus’ immediate context and his accusers.)

The parable, at this point, leaves us hanging. (There’s still a smack-down in store.) Amidst the thematic cluster of lostness, repentance, restoration, home and celebration, we have yet to answer the question, Who ought the hero to have been? Who should have done the seeking? 

Even so, there’s much to be harvested at this point. From the younger son, we learn: we may always come to God, but we must come to Him on His terms, not ours. And, if we would come, we will only be sons, not hired men. 

From the Father, we learn the lesson that stands at the center the trilogy of parables in Luke 15 (so far): God’s terms for reconciliation include grace that pre-empts our efforts to establish ourselves in His favor. 

Both lessons cut against our pre-conceived notion of our character and God’s. “We’re able to engineer our relationship with God” …  “We’re our own men” …  “We’ll come back when we’re ready,” we might think with the son. But, as we learn from the Father, God’s grace, know to us in Jesus and His cross-work, pre-empts our plans. God rejoices in the work of His first Son that brings about reconciliation with His other sons.

“But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ” (Eph 2.13, ESV) … Rejoice with me!

 

Circle up with a small group and ask and answer these questions from Luke 15: 

How do the three parables of Luke 15, when read together,  help you understand the main point of each? 

 

How is this reading of The Prodigal Son different from others you’ve heard? What do you see now that you’ve missed in the past? 

 

How are you yet like the younger son? 

 

What about the response of the Father in the parable surprises you the most? 

 

What’s missing now? Where do you think Jesus is going with the second half of the third parable?