Years ago, as a gift for some occasion I have now forgotten, my father gave me a series of four photos he took of a stone sculpture located outside the National Cathedral in Washington, DC. The four photos are framed together and progressively zoom in on the sculpture—a rendering of the prodigal son being welcomed home and embraced by his father.
This sculpture bore particular meaning for my father—a United Methodist pastor’s kid who became a pastor himself, then became father to two United Methodist clergy. My father wasn’t the oldest, responsible son—no, he readily identified with the prodigal son. My father was the pastor’s kid who ran from church as he cruised through his teenaged years in Frederick County, Maryland where there wasn’t much for a teenage boy to do besides get in trouble on some back county road. He entered what is now Frostburg University because that year it had topped Playboy’s party school list. Dad was a walking illustration of the story of the prodigal son.
Dad’s story led him home, back to God. It started when a couple guys invited him to a Bible Study in college, and continued, he admitted, when he and his best friend realized the college girls liked guys who played guitar, especially praise songs. His journey was shaped by a profound call not only back to church, but also to ordained ministry.
Like many prodigal stories, my father’s didn’t end with one return home. Dad would have several periods of wandering—literally and figuratively. His understanding of God as primarily a God of grace, love and forgiveness was a thread that carried him through both joyful highs and deep, dark lows.
You see, Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32) is not first and foremost about the son (neither the younger, prodigal son, nor the older, responsible—and bitter—son). This is a story (as are ALL of Jesus’ parables) about God and God’s kingdom. About the awesome, unmerited, extravagant love of our God. Our Father.
This sculpture by Heinz Warneke powerfully captures the Father as the center of the parable—it is the Father who is the core of the sculpture. The son practically fades into the Father’s embrace.
When I look at the photos—mounted together in a frame which will soon grace the walls of my office here at Calvary—I understand that my father wanted to convey to me not his own story, but God’s story. God’s love.
It is as if my father, who went to be with his heavenly Father several years ago, wanted me to hear his words each time I see the photos, “Never forget God loves you like this, so unending, so limitless,” and “Tell people this. Just this. All of this.”
May all the new season you are entering, including this new season I am entering with the congregation at Calvary UMC, be an opportunity to be continually reminded of God’s extravagant love for us, and may we be committed and energized to share our testimony of God’s love, grace and forgiveness with others.
Pastor Sarah al son, nor the older, responsible
—
and bitter
—
son). This is a story (as are
ALL of Jesus
’
parables) about God and God
’
s kingdom. About the awesome, unmerited, extravagant love
of our God. Our Father.
This sculpture by Heinz Warneke powerfully captures the Father as the cent
er of the parable
—
it is the
Father who is the core of the sculpture. The son practically fades into
the Father
’
s embrace.
When I look at the photos
—
mounted together in a frame which will soon grace the walls of my office
here at Calvary
—
I understand that my father wanted to convey to me not his own story, b
ut God
’
s
story. God
’
s love.
It is as if my father, who went to be with his heavenly Father several years ago
, wanted me to hear his
words each time I see the photos,
͞
Never forget God loves you like this, so unending, so limitless,
͟
and
͞
Tell people this. Just this. All of this.
͟
I give thanks to God for the season we are now entering together. May it be an
opportunity to be
continually reminded of God
’
s extravagant love for us, and may we be committed and energized to
share our testimony of God
’
s love, grace and forgiveness with others.
