How is it that so many Christians
have been reading the same text for thousands of years, and coming to such
different conclusions about its meaning? We’re all seeking after the same God,
but somehow we see his plan like we read a map: we all know where we’re trying
to get, but no one can agree on the best route to take. I wonder, sometimes, how
we will ever manage to lead people to Christ if we can’t even agree on the way
there ourselves.
I know plenty of people that have
decided that enough is enough. If no one can agree on what to tell new
Christians, they think, then why bother making them? If we can’t agree amongst
ourselves, how will we ever convince others to join us? Is it even worth the
struggle?
The answer, resoundingly, is yes.
Even on days when I can’t explain why, I feel it deep within my soul: God
desperately wants the people who are lost. And I think that we miss how
important that is.
In the bible, Jesus tells a story
of the Prodigal Son. This younger son gets fed up with his life, takes money
that shouldn’t be his, and runs. He shirks his duty, and spends his wealth, and
comes back home with his tail between his legs. But when he gets there, he
finds that his father is overcome with joy at his return. Ready to forgive all
that has passed, the father throws a party for his returned son.
And we love that part of the story.
But this story has another figure, an older brother that stayed, and worked,
and didn’t get any parties. When his brother returns, he is bitterly angry and
refuses to attend the party thrown in his own home. And I completely understand
why.
How dare his father decide to
accept his younger brother home just like that! The younger brother has a long
list of sins against him, while the older brother has been working tirelessly, and
for what? So that his father could take the money they had earned, and use it
to throw a party for the younger brother! How dare the father ask the elder to
take what is his, what he has earned, and rain those gifts down on someone
else? How dare the father ask him to uproot all that he has planned, all his
expectations, for someone who has spit in the family’s face, and now comes
groveling?!
Why would God ask us to use our
gifts, our money, our time, and our energy to follow after people that don’t
want Him? Wouldn’t it be much better, safer, easier, more efficient just to
work with what we have? Can’t someone else throw the party for the outsiders
who want to join the family? Haven’t we done enough?
I understand the older brother’s
point of view so clearly. I find that often, like him, I am asking the wrong
questions. The older brother is asking his father, “Doesn’t what I’ve done
matter?” But God hopes that we will ask, “What are You doing, God? How can I be
a part of that?”
In Exodus, God calls his people to
be a kingdom of priests. But priests need a congregation. And ours is the
world. When we ask God what He is doing, the answer will often be, “I am
bringing the whole world under one head, which is Christ.” And Christ will take
care of His body, the Church. So our part is not to babysit the Church, but to
entreat the people who are not yet a part to come join us. And God doesn’t ask
us to have it all figured out before we start: he asks us to try anyway.
