Life is a Gift - Deuteronomy 26:1-11

 

Do you ever stop to wonder, “How did I get here?” I mean this is in the most positive sense. Whether you are “well off” or even struggling to get by, you need to pause at times and declare, “By the grace of God, I live and have my being.” In other words, your life is a gift. And just look what God has done in your life.

            Remembering that life is a gift leads to a thankful heart…and thankfulness inspires giving…and giving done in this spirit is a joy. As Christians, we pray before our meals are served and we say, “thank you for the food.” It has become mechanical for many of us. Is the saying of “grace” not an opportunity to remember? We remember that food is a gift. We remember that the family or friends we eat it with are a gift. We remember that the very fact we are thanking God for food is a gift of faith that has been passed on to us by faithful people who love Jesus. In short, we cannot sit here and say, “Look what I have accomplished,” but by remembering, we say, “Look what God has done in my life.” 

            In our OT text today, Deuteronomy 26:1-11, we have a teaching that was meant for the Israelites when they were about to cross into the Promised Land. It was a teaching about the heart of giving our first fruits to God. These words were not written to us, but we can learn from them about what happens when we give to the Lord. 

            I believe when we grasp the truth of these words, remembering our lives are a gift from God will renew our worship in giving. 

 

Giving begins with Remembering

 

Moses gives Israel a speech to make to God when they brought their first fruits to the Lord. We don’t need to say this speech, but the spirit of it reminds us of what is happening when we give. 

            When Israelites made the speech to God, it described their relationship to God. It was a teaching tool for them. God didn’t need to hear it…but they needed to say it. And the heart of what they said was, “God, we depend on you.” They needed to say this because, as we all know, it is too easy to forget we are dependent on God. So, what was the speech?

            We see in the opening verses that the worshiper comes with his first fruits in a basket to the priest. Moses said, as he hands the basket over, to recite these words (see v. 3, 5-9). It’s a confession of sorts…

·      My father was a wandering Aramean… (that’s Jacob)

·      We cried to the Lord and he heard us… (in our torment)

·      The Lord brought us out of Egypt… (he delivered us) 

·      And he brought us into this place… (the Promised Land)

The confession is simple: The worshiper is rehearsing the story of God’s faithfulness. God has done what he has promised. God has been faithful in the past, and therefore we can trust him in the future. Jesus, in his “Do not worry” sermon made the same promise, “…do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you,” (Mat. 6:31f). 

            Remember how God gave these things to you? Food, drink, clothes – in the past he has provided these to you. Is it true that God has been faithful? If yes, then, in our giving, we are declaring God has kept his promise in giving what we needed. Before you open your hand, open your memory.

 

Giving is an act of Thankfulness

 

Israel responded to God’s faithfulness with a first fruits offering. It is important to remember God is not hungry. Nor are they paying God back for the Promised Land. A “first fruits” gift to God is a tribute to God for his faithfulness. It is an acknowledgement of God’s goodness. “God, you have been good to me. You have given me food and drink and clothing, am giving to you the “first fruits” of what you have given to me. Thank you!” 

            Remember, life is a gift. We don’t give in order to make our lives a gift. We give because our lives already are a gift. 

            The first fruits gift is an act of thanksgiving. It also honors God in that we bring the first and best to him believing that he will continue to take care of us. When we give God the first fruits, we’re not waiting to see how everything turns out in business or farming before we give. We are declaring, “God, you have been faithful, and I trust you with what remains” We don’t give him what’s left after everything else has been paid. We give as an intentional first response to his generosity. 

            I read of a church that decided to set aside funds for those who could not give because money was tight. The Leadership said to these people, “Give first. If there are bills you cannot pay, we will cover you.” The pastor said that when families gave first fruits first, they never had to cover those families yet. I don’t know if that works universally but it is an interesting act of faith. 

            So, the worshiper takes his basket to the Lord and says, “And behold, now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground, which you, O Lord, have given me,” (10). The gift acknowledges God as the original giver and thanks him for the plenty that the worshiper has known. 

            We thank God by bringing him a first fruits gift. The Bible, as a whole, teaches there is no thanking God without a gift of some sort. It is not always money or material things. But gratitude opens our hands to give something. Praising and honoring God as the Provider without a gift is empty. God does not need the gift, to be clear. But we need to give it to protect our hearts and minds from idolatry, to keep from worshiping ourselves, or from worshiping and serving our possessions. We need to give it to remind ourselves that we serve God.

 

Giving flows from a heart of Joy

 

When we have remembered God’s faithfulness and responded in thanks, there will be joy. That’s what Moses teaches. “And you shall rejoice in all the good that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house, you, and the Levite, and the sojourner who is among you,” (11). 

             Who gets to rejoice? You. Your family. Those who minister before the Lord. And even the visitor to your congregation. How is that possible? 

I think we have demonstrated that God has been generous with us. The Israelites did not deserve to inherit the Promised Land. Note that nuance: inherit. It was a gift from God. Sharon and I inherited a small sum of money from our parents, and it helped to pay off loans and get rid of debt. We did not work for it. Our parents worked for it and left the money to us. Inheritance isn’t something you earn. It is something you receive. Some never get any inheritance from their parents’ estate. But if you do, it is a gift, a grace. We are heirs of God’s promises. He has given us his kingdom as an inheritance through Jesus Christ. That’s incredibly generous. He didn’t just save us; he gave us a hope.

God’s generosity doesn’t end with us. It moves through us. When we give to the church, to missions, to relief agencies, and so on, we are participating in the generosity of God. That has a ripple effect on the people around us and the recipients of these ministries. Imagine the joy you have spread around the world by giving your offerings to God. How many people have shared in your joy. Think of how lives have been changed through a ministry like ICYA. And there wouldn’t be ICYA if there was not first the church of Jesus. 

“What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also graciously give us all things?” Romans 8:31-32

            And this generosity points us to something bigger than our giving. It points us to the generosity of God. He gave us his Son. This is the heart of giving. How shall we respond? 

 

You may remember when Jesus healed ten lepers in Luke 17. God’s generosity is definitely on display. Jesus healed all ten, but only one returned to give thanks. And Luke makes the point of telling us that he was a Samaritan, an outsider, a foreigner, Jesus calls him. He is the one who comes back and falls at Jesus’ feet to worship him. He recognized the generosity of God and responded with thanksgiving. Jesus does not take back his gift of healing just because the other nine did not return. But one remembered and one returned. 

            God’s generosity produced a grateful response. And that grateful response became worship. 

            God has been so good to us.

            We give because we remember.

            We give because we are thankful.

            We give because generosity produces joy.

Life is a gift! 

 

AMEN

Walking at God's Speed

 

I have never been a big fan of walking. I could never see the point of walking. It was interminably slow. After rushing from one place to another in a car, walking held little attraction. I wanted to get where I was going in a hurry. 

            When Sharon and I were dating we would go for walks around her neighborhood. Sounds romantic, right? As we swapped stories and got to know each other better, Sharon would intermittently look up and remark, “Oh, that house needs new shingles.” I would look and wonder how she could tell. As an insurance adjustor, she could tell. I have since learned to identify bad shingles. 

            Sharon loves going for walks. When she suggested we go for a walk, I would typically groan and reluctantly get up off the couch and follow her out the door. But our first neighborhood was anything but interesting. There were no trees for shade There was nothing to see. The only reason I walked was to be with her. I didn’t like walking. 

            So, it may seem odd that for my sabbatical this summer, Tim Ryan suggested I read the book “God Walk” by Mark Buchanan. Though the premise is simple, “Walking with God,” the practice of this idea has been revolutionary for me. I want to share this with you this morning. 

            From beginning to end, the Bible is full of “walking” metaphors. The Bible uses “walking” as a way of describing life with God. The prophets preached it; Jesus embodied it. Walking was the vehicle where discipleship took place. In other words, walking is a way of learning the pace of Jesus. Buchanan writes of it as learning to walk with the three-mile-an-hour God. 

 

1. God made us for Walking 

 

In the OT and in the ancient Jewish mind, how you live is how you walk. In Hebrew, the word halakh “to walk” or “to go” became a powerful way of describing one’s manner of life before God. Later, the related word halakha described the Jewish way of life shaped by God’s law. The very first instance of walking in the Bible was when Adam and Eve had sinned. Genesis 3:8 tells us that they “…heard the sound of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day…” and they hid. It is an awesome thing to think of God as walking casually among humans. 

            Halakh soon became an important Jewish concept of “walking with God.” Twice it says in Genesis 5 that Enoch walked with God (22, 24), as if to say something much more significant than strolling with the Lord. He was a man who walked faithfully with God. 

            Even more formally, walking came to represent obedience to God’s commands. Moses told the Israelites “…to keep the commandments of the LORD your God by walking in his ways and by fearing him,” (Deut. 8:6). 

            Truly, we complicate faith in God by making it a religion. People get caught up in the details of religion and turn it in legalism. Micah addresses this temptation when he asks a really good question, “What does God want of us?” And the prophet Micah replied, “He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (6:8). 

            Micah doesn’t reduce faith to believing the right things or accumulating credits through works. He gives us this beautiful picture, “Walk humbly with your God.”

            You see, I was in a hurry to get somewhere, to get from point A to point B quickly. I saw walking as transportation. God sees walking as transformation. 

            

2. Jesus walked with his Disciples 

 

By the time of Jesus, Halakh was entrenched in Jewish life as “the way of walking.” When a Jewish rabbi interpreted the law, he was giving halakh – specific rules on how to walk. 

            We see Jesus walking by the sea and calling men to come and follow him. He continued to walk. And as he walked, Jesus taught these men his “way of walking.” The little group always seemed to be moving from village to village. I think that if you would trace the path of this journey, it would make no sense as to where they were going. Draw a line on a map and you would see Jesus and his followers walking in circles. That didn’t matter. It was not the destination but the journey that was important. It was the conversation. 

Yet Jesus clearly taught that Jerusalem was the final destination. Here’s the kicker: The journey from Capernaum to Jerusalem could be made on foot in a matter of days. Jesus, however spent three years walking toward Jerusalem.  

Walking and talking was a key part of discipleship. Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life,” (John 8:12). Jesus continues the OT language of walking, In the Greek, the word is peripateo. So, Jesus invites his followers to travel down the same road with him and learn his pattern for life. That’s the invitation. And the response is peripateo, “to walk,” or imitate that way of walking. 

Jesus didn’t set up a classroom and teach theory. He took his disciples on the road and showed the light of life. When they passed a field of wheat, Jesus waved at it and said, “I know a story. A man was sowing seed…” When they were arguing about who the best disciple was, Jesus taught them about greatness by setting a child in their midst. The world was his classroom. 

Follow me. Come with me. Walk with me. Watch what I do. Following Jesus was not a lesson plan, it was life lived together. Jesus wasn’t trying to get to Jerusalem in a hurry; he was transforming these disciples into disciple-makers.

3. Walking creates space for Discipleship

 

Jesus showed his followers the way to walk in a dark world. The Way. Not an idea. Not the ideal. Not even doctrine. Not philosophy. Not moral training. The Way! How do you follow an idea? You can argue about it. How do you follow a philosophy? You study it. But Jesus doesn’t give us an idea or a philosophy. He gives us a way to walk. 

Mark Buchanan convinced me in his book that walking, literally walking, awakens one’s life with Christ. Walking revives body, mind, and soul in profound ways. 

While I was on sabbatical, sitting on the couch and reading this book, I thought, “I need to do this.” I got up, went outside, and walked. Three benefits emerged as I walked. I found…

Walking restores my body. I’ve noticed my pants getting tight. I know I lacked a regimen for exercise because I am always in a hurry. When would I exercise? I need to be places. The truck gets me there fast. But my body was suffering and I was forming unhealthy habits. I’ve started walking to work, walking to coffee places, everywhere in town. 

Walking clears my mind. On sabbatical, I sat and read or sat at my computer. But when I decided to walk that day, it blew my mind – literally. After walking around that new path in town, I realized my mind was clearer, my thoughts were more positive, and my attitude was brighter as I started the day. It was so simple, how could I have missed this? My mind needed this. I needed to go from 60 mph to 3 mph. 

Walking opens me to the quiet presence of Jesus. This one was the most surprising. I imagined I would walk and pray. Nope, didn’t happen. I didn’t feel like praying on the walk. I couldn’t force myself to do it. But while I walked, I found Jesus was quietly present. He didn’t reveal anything to me. He was just there. He whispered in tones that I did not hear until long after the walk was over. At three-miles-an-hour, I realized how small and dependent I was on his presence. At 3 mph, I am vulnerable and open to my need for him.

 

4. Jesus meets us on the Road

 

When we walk, Jesus is quietly present. Consider the encounter on the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35). Cleopas and his companion are walking to Emmaus from Jerusalem, a distance of 7 miles. A stranger comes up beside them and overhears their conversation about the crucifixion of Jesus and the discovery of the empty tomb. 

            The stranger asks what they are talking about and they are surprised he doesn’t know. He seems clueless about the events that shattered these two people’s world and have gripped and shocked a nation. 

That 7-mile journey becomes a two-hour conversation. 

            You know, these disciples are walking away from Jerusalem. They think the “Jesus story” is over. They are disappointed – grieving. Bewildered over the empty tomb. 

            Jesus comes alongside them. He doesn’t say, “Hey guys, it’s me!” He doesn’t reveal himself in a blaze of glory. He walks with them. He asks what they are grieving over. Jesus listens to their questions. Then he starts to explain from the OT what the prophets said about Messiah. He walks and talks. He teaches Cleopas and friend about how all roads, all Scripture, lead to the same place: the Messiah will suffer before he enters his glory.

            What’s interesting is they don’t recognize him. When I was walking the Rosenort Trail, I didn’t recognize Jesus either. Not until later. In both instances, theirs and mine, however, he was right there. 

            After Jesus reveals his hands in the breaking of bread, he disappears. And then Cleopas and his companion say to each other, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?” (32). 

            Did you notice where their hearts burned? Not the destination. On the road. While walking.

So, I am walking now. And I am enjoying the journey as never before. 

            Buchanan wrote, “…walking is the way we keep pace with the three-mile-an-hour God. It is God speed. We walk with a God who seems in no particular hurry and who, it seems, enjoys the going there as much as the getting there. A God who is slow.” (8)

            Buchanan also wrote how the two disciples at Emmaus discovered Jesus even as they were lamenting his absence. That was my experience on the Rosenort Trail. I wondered where Jesus was even while he was present with me. Jesus keeps showing up in those moments, showing us himself, showing us his world, walking beside us. My heart burns even as I think of this reality. Even when we don’t recognize him on the walk, he is okay with that. That comes later. It takes some walking to get to the place where we recognize him. 

            This is not about pilgrimages to some sacred shrine, like the Camino de Santiago in Spain. I am not saying we should plan a “Jesus March.” It’s not an exercise plan like Tai Chi Walking. I invite you simply to walk. It’s not magic. It just creates the space. Jesus does the transforming.

            I found it takes five minutes to walk to church from my house. It takes ten minutes to get to Lilystone and seven to go to Jake’s. But most of all, I have discovered that slowing down to God speed is an opportunity to learn to walk with Jesus. 

            I invite you to walk. It may sound overly simple, but I think we are missing something in this fast-paced car-crazy culture…that in the Garden, God walked. And Jesus wants to walk with you.

 

                                                                        AMEN

 

The "Prodigal" Father (Luke 15:11-24)

What makes a great father? How do we as men answer that without feeling a little anxious? 

            The traditional answers involve talking about a father who provides for his family. One who works hard. One who teaches his child to ride a bike or throw a football. One who demonstrates what is right and what is wrong by living out good principles.             

            Many of us would like to include the role of spiritual leader in the home. Someone who walks like Jesus, shares their faith, and prays with and for his children. 

            I don’t know about you, but this standard is pretty high for me. I feel like I need a “do over” when it comes to being a dad. There are definitely things I could have done better with my children. 

            Here’s a more difficult question: How does a father show his love for his children when those children make bad decisions? 

            I see a lot of good dads among our young men. Many of you are seen holding your toddlers on Sunday morning. You are involved in the care and protection of your young ones. Guys, you are doing great and you look like model dads. It’s easy to look like a successful dad when your children are obedient, respectful, and going to Sunday school willingly.

            But what happens when they grow up and reject your values? What happens when they ignore your advice? What do you do when they grow up and walk away from everything you taught them to believe? How do you respond when they walk away from faith in Jesus? 

            Today we want to explore a different angle of what some have called “the Greatest Story Ever Told,” the Parable of the Lost Son. But we want to focus on the father in the parable. Jesus spends a lot of time describing the father’s response to his wayward son and in so doing shows us a picture of how a father loves his children.

1. A Loving Father Does Not Nurse the Pain 

 

The Parable of the Prodigal Son or the Lost Son is well known. You have heard it dozens of times. Have you considered the father’s perspective in this story? 

            The man in the parable has two sons. One could be labeled “rebellious” and the other “resentful.” The younger son has apparently had enough of living under his father’s house and wants out. He wants to be free. So, he says to his father, “Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me,” (12). 

            Now, given that there are only two sons, a third of the estate would go to the younger son. Jesus’ listeners would nevertheless have been shocked. A son does not ask for his inheritance while the father is still living. In a culture of honor-shame in the ANE, what the son does here is shameful. There are several ways that this pain is manifested for the father.

            First, there is the pain of personal rejection. With the son asking for his inheritance, he is basically saying to his dad, “I wish you were dead.” 

            Second, there is the pain of a rejected heritage. Inheritance in the ANE is usually land that has been in the family for generations. But the son pressures the father to sell his share of the land for cash. 

With the rejection of heritage, the father also feels the pain of rejected values. We see this in the reckless manner in which the son goes off to a distant land of foreign gods and customs and spends his money.  

            Finally, the father feels the pain of humiliation because the son’s rejection does not happen in secret. Everyone knows the son made the father sell property. And while the son is partying, the father bears the shame as the community questions his parenting skills. 

            Why did Jesus tell this story of the rebel son? Well, the Pharisees were grumbling about how Jesus mingled with tax collectors and sinners (15:1-2). In other words, they expected Jesus to show a little tough love on the rebels and renegades. But Jesus wanted to show them the kind of love the Father has for people no matter the pain they caused him. In fact, if the Lost Son represents the rebels and renegades, the older son who stays home and grudgingly obeys represents the judgy Pharisees. And the father in the parable loves both the rebel and the resentful son. 

            What we see in this long-suffering father is a willingness to suffer the pain of both sons. He does not rehearse the pain caused by either son but pours out his love on both. We all know the temptation to relive the wounds our children inflict on us. We could replay the hurt. We revisit the disappointment. The pain begins to identify us, to shape our attitude if we let it. This father refuses to let pain identify him. 

 

2. A Loving Father is a Merciful Father 

 

After a time of reckless living, the son is broke and starving. This wakes him up to the reality of his homelife. He comes up with a plan. He will go home to his father and say, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants,” (18-19). 

            I think it is important to recognize that this is not a full repentance. The son is desperate and hungry. Evangelical tradition has always emphasized how the son “came back.” But we diminish the full power of grace shown to the son if we even hint at his action of returning as assisting grace. After all, he thinks to himself he can pay off his debts by working.

            It is here that we want to note the father’s response:

            First, his father “saw him.” Imagine the father standing on the rooftop of his house every day looking down the road to see if his son is coming. Every. Day. It is as if he knows his son will soon exhaust his lifestyle. He also has an inner conviction that his son will return. So, he waits.

            It may be a critical move that he sees his son before the community does. They will not show mercy to the boy. In ancient Israel there is a ceremony for cutting off rebels called kezazah. When a boy shames his family, the community holds a kezazah. If the boy returns without the money he took from his father, the community may kill him. So, the father watches.

            When the father saw him, he “felt compassion.” Not wrath or malice. Not a compulsion to throttle his neck. No “I told you so” lectures. But mercy and tenderness. He sees his boy in rags, his bloodied feet, his dirty appearance, and feels nothing but deep care for his son. He could have said, “I could care less,” but instead says, “I couldn’t care more.” Even the stench of the pigpen does not deter the father.

            Breaking all conventions for a proper gentleman, the father “ran.” When you reach a certain age and station as a man of means, you never run. It is undignified. This father doesn’t care. He runs. He picks up his robes and humiliates himself before the community and runs! Perhaps he is deflecting the crowd’s attention off of his son and onto himself. More likely, love compels him to rush to greet his lost boy. 

            And finally, chest heaving for lack of oxygen after running 50 feet, the father “embraced and kissed him.” The son hasn’t said anything yet; he barely has a chance. His speech is smothered by the father’s love, he is so overjoyed to see his son, to have him back. Can you imagine just delighting in your children simply because they came home? Even when they have not asked for forgiveness? Can you imagine gushing over your child knowing they still think your values are out of date? This is overwhelming grace.

 

3. A Loving Father is a Prodigal Father

 

The term “prodigal” is often applied to the “Lost Son” in Jesus’ parable. It fits considering the lifestyle he chose. But “prodigal” does not mean “rebellious” as such; it means “to spend money freely or extravagantly.” It can even infer recklessness. 

            The “lost son” was prodigal in his spending on luxuries and pleasures. But we could also say that the father was prodigal in a lavish outpouring of love on this son. What makes this love outstanding is that the father never lets the son give his speech. The son barely squeaks out his intro while being enveloped in the father’s embracing arms. You can imagine the son being squeezed while speaking, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, I am no longer worthy to be called your son…” (21). The father pays little attention to the prepared speech because he is already thinking “restoration” for his son. Love like this ignites true repentance in the son.

            If the father truly is prodigal in his display of love, we see it in his prodigious response to his son’s condition. Some have gleaned meaning in each expression:

The kiss expressed the father’s forgiveness. Regardless of the stench and filth, the father kisses his son.

He places a robe on his son’s back. This visible symbol demonstrates how the son is restored to the whole community. “He is my son again,” the father declares. He wears dad’s colors.

“Put a ring on his hand,” the father commands. Authority is given to the son in this ring, like a key to the city.

And shoes for his feet? Slaves go barefoot, but a freeman wears shoes. 

Finally, the father throws a feast. If you notice in the preceding parables – when the lost sheep is found or when the lost coin is discovered – there is celebration, there is rejoicing. Here too the father wants the whole community to celebrate the “resurrection” of this dead son lost to the world and found again. Through love, the father gives the son his life back.

            And what of the other son? He hears the partying and music and says, “What the heck? I worked hard for dad. I lived by the rules. And what do I get? Nothing.” He is resentful and bitter. To him it is not fair that his wayward brother should be so celebrated. And so, the father has another fire to put out in the home. In this picture, Jesus is inviting the religious to celebrate restoration of the sinner.  

            Notice that the father in Jesus’ story is a perfect picture of God’s love, and still, one son rebels and the other resents him. Good parenting does not guarantee faithful children. And to be honest, our job as parents is not to control our children’s choices but to be faithful in loving them like Jesus does – lavishly.

 

The trio of parables Jesus told were a response to the criticism of Jesus that he hung out with sinners and ate with them. Who then, was the shepherd looking for a lost sheep? Who was the woman looking for her coin? And who was the father looking down the road for his son to come home? Jesus, of course. He is the One who loves for loves’ sake. He is the inspiration for loving those who are lost, even our children. 

            The father in Jesus’ parable is a picture of God’s own love. He is patient. He is merciful. He is generous. He is faithful. He is what we want in a father. And yet, one son leaves home and lives a wild life. The other stays home and grows bitter. Consider this: Even perfect fathering does not produce perfect children. 

            Sometimes we parents carry a burden that God never intended. We feel deeply the choices our children make and we immediately blame ourselves for not teaching them better. If only we were more strict, prayed more, been a better example, etc. Perhaps. But if this story teaches us anything, it reminds us that parents are responsible for one thing: to be faithful in loving our children.

The late Joe Bayly was a gentle, godly Christian leader. He once told how one of his sons rebelled back in the days of the hippie movement, back in the 60s or 70s. He grew his hair long and moved into a communal flophouse. Late one night, Bayly received a call informing him that his son was being held at one of the Chicago police stations. He got out of bed, got dressed and went down to the station, but they had no record of his son being there. He made the rounds to several police stations before he realized that the call had been a prank.

Even though it was about 2 a.m., before he went home Bayly went to the flophouse where his son was living. He went in (the door was always unlocked), stepped over several sleeping bodies strewn on the floor, and found his son asleep on his bed. He gently bent over and kissed his son on the cheek before he went home to bed.

When Bayly told the story, he said that his son was now a pastor. Years later, the young man told his father, “Dad,do you know what turned me around?” Bayly said, “No, son.” His son said, “It was that night you came into my room and kissed me. You thought that I was asleep, but I wasn’t. I thought, ‘If my dad loves me that much, I had better get my life right with God.’”

            As a dad, I wish I could back and do some things differently. But our hope is not found in becoming perfect fathers. Our hope is that we can point our children to the perfect Father in heaven. And sometimes the most Christlike thing a father can do is not have the right answers, but simply to keep loving.

 

                                                            AMEN

            

 

A Permanent Place at the Table (2 Samuel 9)

Have you ever been told, “This is not your table.” It’s an awkward and humiliating experience. You saw a table at a banquet, and you sat down. Then someone with “authority” came and said to you, “These seats are reserved for the VIPs.” 

            It happened to me one time at a Winnipeg Pastor’s meeting. I had mistakenly sat at the table for the plenary speakers. Since I was there for business, I naturally sat with my boss. But I was quickly downgraded to sit at a less prestigious table. It doesn’t feel nice at all. 

            As we come to the communion table this morning, we may feel out-of-place. Are you asking yourself, “Do I belong at the King’s table?” You feel unworthy. You have struggled with your temptations and failed. You have battled your sins and lost. Perhaps you even fear that someone may come and tell you, “You’re at the wrong table.” 

            Communion, the sharing of bread and juice in memory of the cross of Christ, is not a reward for the strong but an invitation for the undeserving. 

            To illustrate this, I want to share an unusual story with you from the OT. I believe you will see the parallels quickly as we reflect on the story of Mephibosheth at the King’s table in 2 Samuel 9. The overarching question for all of us is, “Who belongs at the King’s Table?” 

 

1. The King Searches for the Forgotten (1-5)

 

David has established his kingdom at this point in the story. His enemies are defeated; he is crowned king over all Israel; and he has brought the ark of the LORD home to Jerusalem. This is the high point of David’s reign as king of Israel.

            At this time, David remembers a promise he made long ago. He asked, “Is there still anyone left of the house of Saul that I may show him kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” After some searching, David’s people find one: Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan. But there are some irregularities concerning the search and discovery of this sole surviving member of Saul’s house…

            The fact that he IS Saul’s grandson and heir to the kingdom of Israel. In many ancient kingdoms it was common practice to eliminate potential threats to the throne. Saul’s house is out and David’s house is in. Therefore, Mephibosheth is in hiding. He’s not wanting to be found. He thinks his life is in danger. Imagine the day David’s messengers arrived. There is a knock at the door. The king’s men stand outside. “The king wants to see you.” Is this an invitation or a death sentence? 

            Then there’s his name. Mephibosheth means “scatters shame.” Not exactly a name of honor. It may have even been derived from the pagan god, Baal. 

            Those who searched for Mephibosheth found him living in a place called Lo Debar. Again, names have meaning. Or in this case, they have no meaning. Lo Debar means “no pasture” or “no word.” So basically, he was living in what we would call “nowheresville.” 

            Do you notice the downward trend of these details? Add one more: Mephibosheth was living with a man named Machir, the son of Ammiel. This means that he was at the mercy of another; Mephibosheth could not earn his own living; he was destitute; he was on welfare.

            Add it all up and you see that he was nobody from nowhere. At the end of this narrative (13), the reader discovers that Mephibosheth is lame in both his feet. A small detail, but an important one. Back in 2 Sam. 4:4, after Saul and Jonathan are killed in battle, a regime change is feared and the nurse looking after Saul’s five-year-old heir panics and she drops the boy on his feet, crippling him. His name is Mephibosheth.

            He is nobody from nowhere important, the grandson of a rejected king, the son of a dead father, physically disabled, politically dangerous, and largely forgotten. Yet the king is looking for him; he wants to bless him. 

            This reminds of me Paul’s words, “…while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son…” (Rom. 5:10). Jesus came searching for us while we were in the same condition as Mephibosheth. I was not worthy of the king’s attention, but he came looking for me.

            This is the heart of our communion celebration. We celebrate like Mephibosheth not just being spared but being seated at the table. 

 

2. The King Shows Kindness to the Underserving (6-7)

 

But why? Why would a king search for a forgotten enemy hiding in Lo Debar? 

David’s motivation for finding Mephibosheth was not any merit or special skills the young man might add to the king’s court. No, his motivation was something called “chesed.”

            It’s hard to translate to English. It shows up in our text three times as “kindness.” However, “chesed” shows up as “loving kindness” or “grace” in the OT. It is often used of God as we read in Isaiah 54:10 “For the mountains may depart, and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love (chesed) shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,’ says the LORD who has compassion on you.” What is David wanting to demonstrate to Mephibosheth? There are three dimensions of “chesed.” 

            First, it is “love in action.” It is not just a feeling or some compulsion; it requires a deed. It is love that acts and meets a need. This is so clearly expressed in the cross of Christ.

            Second, it has to do with covenant loyalty. It has nothing to do with Mephibosheth’s circumstances or failings. David made a covenant with his good friend Jonathan in 1 Samuel 20:14-17. Out of love and loyalty to Jonathan, David seeks to bless Mephibosheth. The same is true of our salvation. God does not seek us out because we are lovely or good. He seeks us out because of the eternal covenant made through Jesus Christ. He is the emblem of that promise.

            And third, “chesed” goes beyond the expected. As we see in the text, David does more than is required or deserved. One scholar described it as, “When the person from whom I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything.” 

            I believe this is the kindness Paul had in mind when he wrote to his protégé Titus, “But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, who he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior…” (Titus 3:4-6). 

            A Sunday School teacher asked her class if they knew the difference between kindness and lovingkindness. One little girl said she did. She said that kindness is when your ask your mom for some toast and she gives it to you. Lovingkindness is when you ask your mom for some toast and she gives it to you with butter and jelly on it. 

            David reflected the loving kindness of God by going beyond expectations. 

 

3. The King goes Beyond what is Expected (6-12)

 

David sparing Mephibosheth’s life was a great mercy in itself. That would have been enough. No one expected more of David. But David goes further than expected.

            David does three things for the young man. First, he says, “Do not fear.” He removes all fear from Mephibosheth’s racing mind as he thinks, “What is he going to do to me?” There’s nothing to fear. 

            Then, David gives Mephibosheth all of his family’s land. He even makes sure there are servants to tend the land and provide for him. In an instant, Mephibosheth’s inheritance was restored. 

            But this third action is repeated for emphasis throughout the narrative. Four times we read that David granted him to sit at the King’s table “always.” Three of them are direct, “always…always...always” (7, 10, 13) and the fourth says it like this, “So Mephibosheth ate at David’s table, like one of the king’s sons,” (11). He was essentially adopted into David’s family with the full rights to “always” sit at the king’s table. No one, I mean, no one, was going to come to Mephibosheth and say, “I think you’re at the wrong table.” Honor and respect were given to one who felt like a “dead dog” before the king. No, Mephibosheth, you are not a dead dog, you are a son of the king now. And you and I have a seat at the table always, just like he did. 

            Paul tells us, “For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba Father!’ The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God,” (Rom. 8:15-16).

            Beyond survival, the gospel is about giving us a place of belonging at the table of the King.

 

So, as we come to the table today, we come to a token of the future banquet. We will sit at the king’s table in eternity. For now, we come to the table just as we are. We come from nowhere with no name and crippled by our sin. But sitting at the table, the tablecloth covers our broken feet as if to cover all our shame. 

            The Lord’s table reminds us that God has done more than forgive us our sins. He has welcomed us his sons and daughters and given us a place at his table “always.” 

            Mephibosheth came from Lo Debar expecting judgment and found a seat at the king’s table. We come today from our own places of failure, weakness, and need. And through Jesus, the King, God says, “There is a place for you here.” 

            If you feel unworthy, like a dead dog, then you are exactly the kind of person this table was prepared for. This table is for you. Don’t hold back. Come to the table.

 

                                                            AMEN