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Off Roading

Off-Roading

August 27, 2006

Text: Luke 15:11-32 [Prodigal Son]

Then Jesus said, "There was a man who had two sons.  12 The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them.  13 A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.  14 When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need.  15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs.  16 He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything.  17 But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger!  18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you;  19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands." '  20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.  21 Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.'  22 But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe — the best one — and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate;  24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.  

25 "Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing.  26 He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on.  27 He replied, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.'  28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him.  29 But he answered his father, 'Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends.  30 But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!'  31 Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.  32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.'"

NRSV 

      I’ve just discovered my next car.

      Here ‘tis.

      You know, it’s the perfect pastor’s car. It goes into/out of ditches, over boulders, through water, up mountains. And you never know when you’re going to encounter things like that on the way to make a hospital call. As a matter of fact, I’m going to suggest we put “Pastor’s Hummer” as a line in the church budget for next year. Are you with me?

      Driving a Hummer shows that you could deal with ditches and boulders and water and mountains if you wanted to. A Hummer is a rough and rugged vehicle. So, if you drive one, you must be pretty tough yourself. After all, who do you think would own one?

      However, owning a tough vehicle, and being tough yourself, are two different things.

      Just look at this character.

      “Ah, I love this Hummer. I’m having it out-fitted with electrified, rotating, stainless-steel hubcaps; a personalized license plate; tinted windows; and a huge DVD player inside.

      That’s appropriate for someone like me. These aren’t cheap. I’ve had to work hard for it. I’ve inherited the family business, you see, and a good one it is. I own a large olive farm—there’s quite a market for olives, and we have a corner on it! I love driving my hummer down the lane through my trees, seeing my workers cultivating, pruning, or picking. I power down the window, wave, and they wave back—at their boss, driving a Hummer.

      I know what you’re thinking. “You’re awfully young to own such a company.” Well, my father retired early, and gave it to me. You know, I don’t think he wanted to retire early. It was just that after a while, his heart wasn’t in it any more.

      My younger brother was to blame, for breaking the old man’s heart.

      That…brother of mine.

      He’s a real work of art.

      He was always the kid getting into trouble, the kid disobeying the rules. Stay out past curfew, party, get drunk, sometimes do drugs. Oh, how he put my Dad through the ringer. The old man would get mad and shout at him, then he’d get sad and cry. Personally speaking, I don’t think my Dad was tough enough on him. I think he should have punished him hard, real hard. If the kid ran away, so be it—good riddance.

      Actually, he did run away. Cashed in the CD’s Dad had put in his name, then hit the road.

      You should have seen the old man after that. He wasn’t himself. He couldn’t focus on work—kept looking out the window, as if hoping the kid would come back. Retiring was the only option for him. Even then, he’d spend each morning rocking on the front porch with a cup of coffee in hand, looking down the road. Each evening he’d rock again on the porch, glass of wine in hand, looking down that same road.

      He did this day after day. I finally couldn’t take it. I got into the Hummer and went looking for this brother of mine, who broke the old man’s heart. I was going to grab him, throw him into the car, make him come back. I started down I-55, but there was a huge traffic jam—just past the Olive Barrel Restaurant, off Jordan River Bottom Road. Things were backed up for a couple of miles. Well, that was too long for me to wait—I had a business to run. Besides, it’s the kid’s responsibility to come back, not mine to make him come back.

      So, when I saw a nice flat area in the median, I turned around the Hummer and went back to work. My brother’s a big boy—let him come back home on his own.

      Actually, a few days later, he did.

      He came walking down the road, head down—walking, instead of driving the Corvette. His clothes were filthy and torn. Dirt on his face. Shaggy growth of beard. He didn’t smell too good, either.

      My brother must have been walking all night, because it was daybreak when he came into view. The minute he sees him, Dad jumps up from his chair on the porch, spilling his coffee. He runs out there in his pajamas and robe, and hugs him for the longest time. Dad’s crying, and just keeps crying. Then he kisses him, puts an arm around him, leads him home, saying how wonderful it is to see him again.

      He prepares a huge breakfast. After the kid’s cleaned up he drives him into town, takes him shopping for new clothes, and a new car. Then he throws a party that night to welcome my brother home.

      Dad couldn’t understand why I didn’t go to that party. He came and tried to get me to come in.

      I said, “What’s wrong with you, Dad? This ‘son of yours’ wasted your money. He treated you like dirt. He broke your heart. He doesn’t deserve your love. And now, you’re fawning over him, treating him like he’s the greatest son who ever lived. Why???”

      You know what he said?

      “Because he’s back—he’s come back home—he’s with us again!”

      With “us” again?

      Frankly, I don’t know if there will be an “us.” Where’s my reward, my party, for my hard work? I didn’t run away. I stayed and worked and increased the revenues for the business.

      So I said, “Dad, I’d rather take a drive by myself than be with your wonderful son, who of course loves you so much.”

      I turned my back, got into my Hummer, and cranked up the satellite stereo as high as it would blare through the Bose speakers.

      I retracted the sun roof, and steered onto one of the backroads.

      Driving my Hummer makes me feel better, you see. It helps me forget the unfairness of this world.

      Maybe I’ll cool off by the time I get back home.

      When I get back home.

      OK—Who is he?...

      Wouldn’t it have been something if this older son/brother had said, “Dad, I know you miss my brother. Don’t worry. I’m going to get into the Hummer, and nothing is going to stop me from bringing him back to you. If he’s in a ditch, I’ll find him. If he’s on a mountain, I’ll find him. I know you’re miserable without him. I WILL BRING HIM BACK!”

      But that didn’t happen.

      Why?

      It’s all wrapped up in what he said to his dad: [slide]

      “When this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!”

      Look carefully at those words—and look clearly into the elder brother’s heart.

1—He didn’t care for his brother. [He was angry and jealous of him. If he’d never returned, it was OK for him. And you know that if he did come back, he wanted him to be punished—really punished.]

2—He cared more for himself than for his dad. [If he had understood and cared for his father, he would have gone after the boy. But he was more concerned about “what’s fair,” and about his own reward for being “good.]

      These were two concrete reasons for him to keep the Hummer in the garage, or at least on dry pavement. He wasn’t really going to use it to find his lost brother.

      Makes you sort of stop and think, doesn’t it?

      You own a Hummer. You have the ability to do radical, off-road type of things in order to reach the brother or sister who’s lost.

      BUT Jesus’ story makes you ask yourself,

1—DO I CARE ABOUT THAT PERSON WHO’S RUN AWAY?

2—DO I CARE ABOUT MY FATHER’S TEARS?

      We can talk all we want about inviting others into a life-changing relationship with Christ. We can talk about being an “inviting” congregation—that’s our mission statement, remember? BUT—if we don’t have that burning love for that person who’s lost her/his way—if we don’t set aside our ego and feel the pain they’re going through…IF we don’t have a burning desire to dry the Father’s tears—if we don’t feel for the one who created us and is now suffering: We’ll never use the Hummer for what it’s made for. We’ll never be really tough.

      Make no mistake: JESUS TOLD THIS STORY SO WE’D LET OUR HEARTS BE MOVED TO GO OFF-ROADING.

      Anything less than off-roading on behalf of the lost, on behalf of the Father, simply isn’t good enough.

      One of the most famous missionaries of the 19th-century was David Livingstone. When stories of his work in Africa reached the Western world, others wanted to join in him. Legend has it that a missionary society sent him a cable that said: “Have you found a good road to where you are? If so, we want to send other men to join you.”

      Livingstone responded: “If you have men who will come only if they know there is a good road, I don’t want them! I want men who will come if there is no road at all!”

      Livingstone wanted people so passionate that they’d go off-roading in order to bring the lost back to the Father. He wanted TOUGH people.

      So…How tough are you? Are you as tough as the Hummer you have in your garage? Do you have what it takes to put the Hummer through its paces?

      Now, I’m tempted to get real preachy here. “Here are some things we can do in order to put our faith into action. Here’s how we can go after the Prodigal Son.”

      But that misses the point.

      The Parable of the Prodigal Son isn’t ultimately about what we ought to be doing. It’s about what we first ought to be feeling. If you love another person as Christ loves—if you are moved by the Father’s heartache: you will know what to do. You will know how to drive that Hummer.

      Will you be a compassionate older brother, or a cold, selfish and self-righteous one?

      This week, “get into someone’s face.” Get firmly planted in your mind’s eye the face of someone who desperately needs to be brought back to the Father. Feel what they’re going through. And feel what the Father must feel—the one who even gave us His Son, in an effort to bring us home.

      Let your heart be moved.

      Then see what you’ll do.

      A church in Southern California had just completed a large addition in order to house their growing congregation. 

 No sooner did they finish the project than they discovered that 250 housing units were going in right behind them—they would share a property line.

      The pastor of the congregation said he had conversations with two members within a three-hour time period. 

      The first member said: “We need to build a fence so their kids don’t wander onto our property.” 

   The second member asked: “Do we have the money to build a sidewalk and steps up to our church, so their kids can come to our ministries?”

      If we are to make the Father happy, our hearts must call us to build sidewalks, not fences.