Family ties
Commentary
Object:
Channing Pollack used to tell a devastating tale of something that happened to him as a young boy. His parents took him along to a party at a magnificent house on a grand estate. The people who lived there and hosted the party had a young daughter about his age, so the two of them played together.
When they ran out of ideas for games, young Channing said, "Let's hide behind this curtain and maybe no one will know we're here!"
The girl never hesitated in her forlorn answer. She said, "Maybe no one will care!"
Can you imagine that?! A young child says about her own parents, "Maybe no one will care! Maybe no one will ever come to check on us! Maybe they will all forget about us, and we'll stand there till we die!"
All of our passages for today play on family ties, both weak and strong. Through Hosea God laments about the poor family relationships that have produced both religious and social dysfunction. Paul urges the Colossian Christians to renew their spiritual family ties in order to recover their appropriate identity. Jesus teaches his disciples about prayer by holding before them a warm and gracious photo of their heavenly Father.
Hosea 1:2-10
Israel's prophets often appear, at first glance, to be strange creatures. A number of them harangue with incessant tirades (e.g., Amos), making us uncomfortable to spend too much time with such grumpy old men. Some are constant political gadflies (e.g., Jeremiah), always taking positions opposite of those in power. Others veer off into strange visions that are worlds removed from our everyday life (e.g., Zechariah), chafing readers with their oddness. There are even a few who have very compromised personal lives (e.g., Hosea), leading us to suspect more than a little psychologizing in their soap opera-ish theology.
Still, there is an inherent consistency of message and focus among all of these diverse religious ruminations and rantings. The prophetic sermons are invariably rooted in the web of relationships created by the Sinai covenant. Israel belongs to Yahweh, and her lifestyle must be shaped by the stipulations of that Suzerain-Vassal treaty. Obedience to Yahweh triggers the Blessings of the Sinai covenant, while disobedience is the first reason for Israel's experiences of its curses: drought, war, famine, enemy occupation, destruction of cities and fields, deportation, and so forth. For this reason the prophetic writings are laced with moral diatribes that carry a strong emphasis on social ethics. As God would declare through Hosea, the dynamics of family life are a profound analogy to the way we interact with our Creator and Redeemer.
Hosea's oral and written communications are dated to the years 750-723 BC because of the rulers identified within the prophecy's pages. What is clear at the outset is that the man had a very bad marriage. Hosea's wife, Gomer, was a prostitute before they wed, and bore at least two sons during their time together. It is uncertain, though, whether these children were biologically related to Hosea, since Gomer was not one to stay in her marriage bed at night. Her escapades and his faithful pleadings, which sound more like a soap opera than a biblical drama, became the analogy for Yahweh's relationship with Israel. Through the voice of Hosea, Yahweh poignantly reviewed the past, detailing the amazing story of love that had brought young Israel into a very privileged and powerful position among the nations of the world. But this rehearsal grew bitter as both Hosea and Yahweh mourned their scorned loves, and wept for their respective wives who were each destroying themselves and their families.
Most marriages hit rough spots, but the drama of love between God and the community of faith is an astounding tale of energized commitments and hopelessly consistent failures. Only the divine initiatives make the story an epic romance that never goes out of style. No wonder Hosea's prophecy sounds like a modern soap opera or cheap paperback romance, and yet preaches like the greatest love story of all times. Indeed, that is exactly what it is.
Colossians 2:6-15 (16-19)
While Paul was in prison in Rome, probably near the end of 58 AD, an event took place that eventually elicited a new spate of letters from Paul: Onesimus, a runaway slave from Paul's friend Philemon, came to Rome and found Paul. Perhaps he was overwhelmed by this alien environment and heard that Paul, someone he had met a few years earlier, was in town. Or maybe Onesimus came to the city specifically because he knew Paul was there, remembering how kindly Paul had treated him while the itinerant evangelist was staying at Philemon's home. In any case, Onesimus and Paul had a joyful reunion, and for a time Onesimus lived with Paul, acting out the true value of his name, which meant "useful."
After a while, though, Paul began to have qualms about ignoring the property rights that bound Onesimus to Philemon. He was sure that he would sometime soon run into his old friend again, and this secret would not come to light without great damage to their relationship. In fact, Paul was beginning to make plans for his next travels after being released from prison, and wanted to see Philemon as one stop on that journey. Evidently Paul had received word that his case was soon to be on Caesar's docket, and knew from Herod Agrippa's testimony (Acts 26:32) that royal judgment would clearly be in his favor.
So, probably in early 59 AD, Paul made plans to send Onesimus back to Philemon, accompanied by a trusted friend named Tychicus. Paul penned a short note to Philemon, explaining Onesimus' circumstances, and pleading with his friend to treat the young man well.
About the same time, news had come to Paul regarding a doctrinal controversy threatening the church in Colossae. This congregation had been established under the ministry of Epaphras (Colossians 1:7-8), who was from that town (Colossians 4:12-13). Epaphras most likely heard the gospel about Jesus from Paul during Paul's stay in Ephesus, just down the Lycus and Maeander river valleys.
Since Colossae was very close to Philemon's home, Paul decided to send a letter to that congregation, addressing the concerns he had heard. Tychicus would deliver this letter as well (Colossians 4:7-9).
Paul's letter to the Colossians celebrates their widely recognized faithfulness as disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they serve (Colossians 1:1-23). After a short testimony of Paul's immense care for the Colossian congregation (Colossians 1:24--2:5), he addresses the problem that was beginning to divide them (Colossians 2:6-23). While it is difficult to know what were the specific elements of the false teaching that some were embracing, it appears to have included the worship of angels, certain forms of asceticism, and possibly a unique version of how the commands given through Moses were to be kept. These slim details suggest to some that an early form of Gnosticism was taking root. Others find a Jewish connection, pushing for a Palestinian ritualistic legalism of the kind that Paul had reacted against so strongly in his letter to the Galatians. Whatever the case, Paul's response was to urge the congregation to focus on the superlative transformation brought by Jesus, which did not need to be supported with secondary rules and regulations.
In an almost counter-intuitive move, Paul goes on immediately to give what might be termed "rules" for Christian living. But these commands are more an explication of the social outcomes that emerge when the focus remains on Jesus (Colossians 3:1--4:1), rather than a new set of legalistic instructions. A few personal notes and many personnel reports bring Paul's letter to a conclusion (Colossians 4:2-18).
Luke 11:1-13
What we see in our fathers has a profound impact on the way we live. It is that way, as well, in our relationship with God. That's why when Jesus teaches his disciples about prayer and the values of life he begins by talking about fathers. You see, if we don't believe that God is a good father to us we will never begin to pray.
Jesus tells a little story to explain what he means when he talks about trusting God to care about us like a good father. That parable goes something like this: You're in your bed late one night and suddenly you hear a pounding at your door. Someone is calling out to you! Since your whole family is gathered around you in the sleeping quarters at the far end of your house, everyone is disturbed by the noise.
Why would anyone be out there so late at night? Well, in the heat of Palestinian summer nobody travels very far during the day. Your friend is on a journey, and he traveled after sundown, in the cool of the evening. Now he has finally arrived at your village.
That's why you roll away from your wife, and you try not to step on the kids, and you grab a little lamp, lighting the wick from the smoldering ashes of the cooking fire. Then you move back the sticks that keep the cattle out in the courtyard of your house. Of course, they all start to moo and beller and grunt, the way livestock does when disturbed at night.
All the while your friend is out there at the main door of your house, calling for you and knocking incessantly.
Finally you get to him. Then you have to spend fifteen minutes out there in the street going through a whole series of greetings. That's part of the culture. He would be insulted if you invited him in without this elaborate ritual.
Then you have to retrace your steps, guiding him at your side: disturbing the noisy cattle again, passing through the gate into your eating and sleeping quarters, treading carefully among your yawning children who are now stretching and rubbing their eyes.
Your wife is up. She knows what she's supposed to do. She says to you, "Honey, we don't have any bread!"
Well, that's okay, isn't it? You don't have to feed him at this hour, do you?!
Oh yes you do! Palestinian hospitality demands that you sit down together over a meal with a recently arrived guest, no matter what the hour, no matter what you were doing! No traveler ever comes to a home or an inn without a meal being set on the table immediately.
Perhaps you can do without bread. Maybe pull out a few leftovers.
Unfortunately not. In Palestine, during the first century, there is no cutlery for eating. Bread is used to dip the broth from the pot, or to pick up the vegetables from the soup. In a very poor household you might only have salted bread! That would be the whole meal!
In other words, no bread, no meal. That would be a terrible disgrace for the host and the traveler.
So the late night bothering has to start all over again. Only this time you are at the door of another friend's house down the street. How do you know that he will have bread to give you? Maybe they are out of bread too! Then you would be in deep trouble!
That won't be the case, however. You know for a fact that these people have bread and more than enough to share. You know it simply because this family baked bread that day at the community oven. Each family in town takes a turn. You know who was scheduled for that day, so you know who has the bread in the village.
Of course, that doesn't keep you from being a pest. You know what your friend is going through, there at the far end of his house, as you scratch at the door. You can hear the animals snorting and rolling inside. You can hear the children tossing and turning at the disturbance. You know he's not very pleased when he yells at you from the distance, "What's the matter out there?! What do you want?! Don't you know how late it is?!"
You apologize profusely, but you don't go away. You keep banging a little bit, and slowly relate the story of what is happening at your house. You know that your friend is thinking to himself, "Not now! We're settled for the night! We're trying to get some sleep! Come back in the morning!"
Still, you know that your friend will get up. He'll disturb all the children. He'll light the lamp and push back the sticks into the cattle courtyard. He'll grab some leftover bread, and stumble through the livestock, and probably even step in the manure. But he will meet you at the door, and he will give you what you want.
Why? Because the honor of the village is at stake when a traveler comes to town. Everyone will do what they can to meet the needs of hospitality.
When Jesus tells that story he helps them understand the character of their Father. Just as they know where to find the bread at night, so they can count on their Father in heaven to deliver the goods that are needed in their relationships that matter.
In fact, Jesus will sometimes use the Aramaic term "Abba" for Father. "Abba" means "Daddy!" The children in the marketplace shout it as they tug on their fathers' robes to get his attention: "Abba! Abba! Abba!"
That is the sense of what Jesus tells us about going to God in prayer. Daddies can fix anything that really needs fixing. Daddies are always there for us. Nothing means more to Daddies than our cares and concerns. And God is our Daddy in that sense.
Good fathers don't give their children everything they ask for. That would never help them grow properly in life. Yet what a child needs most a conscientious parent will always have in supply: the encouragement of worth, the confidence of belonging, the knowledge that someone truly cares. If you really need those things in life, you know where to find them. You also know that whenever you knock on that door, your Father will be there for you.
Application
Phil Moran tells of his early years of marriage, when four children were born to them almost in successive years. Sometimes he wondered how the house could be so busy -- the endless noise, the dirty diapers, the toys scattered everywhere.
The only place he could be alone for a few minutes, in order to think or just have some peace, was when he took a shower. He remembers that even there he was disturbed at times. Once his little daughter came banging on the door calling for him. He shouted back at her from the shower with a great voice of authority, "Can I have my privacy please?!"
The knocking stopped for just the briefest moment. As he breathed a sigh of relief the tiny voice returned, "Daddy! Where's your privacy? I can't find it!"
In Jesus' terms, God is a Father who gives up his privacy for us. He is never too busy to hear the things we want to tell him. He is never too occupied to listen to our cares and concerns. He is never too frustrated to spend time building his relationship with us. And that is the beginning of our feeble attempts at prayer.
Sometimes, of course, we forget that. Like Israel in the days of Hosea, or the Christians in Colossae, we are looking for the wrong things in the wrong places. If we remember our first and most important relationships, however, prayer and faith return.
Alternative Application
Luke 11:1-13. Years ago in Europe, a Jewish boy grew up with a profound sense of admiration for his father. His father was very religious. The family went to services at the synagogue each week. They practiced Jewish acts of devotion in their home, and his father took a leadership role in the Jewish religious community.
Then they moved to a new town. There most of the leading businessmen belonged to the local Lutheran church. So, suddenly, one day, the father announced to the family that they were all going to abandon their Jewish traditions and be baptized as members of the Lutheran church.
The boy was stunned. "Why?" he asked his Dad. "Why would we do something like that?!"
His father shattered him with the answer. It had nothing to do with spiritual convictions. It wasn't a sudden inspiration from God, or even a sense of disappointment with the Jewish faith. His father told him that it would be good for business. That's why they would become Christians.
The boy never recovered from the tremendous doubts that shook him that day, or the intense bitterness he felt over his father's sudden declarations. When he left home he went to England to study. There, at the British Museum he read, thought, and wrote. Eventually he published a book that described religion as the "opiate of the masses." Everything in life, he said, ultimately came down to economics. The bottom line is money. The title on his manuscript said it all: Das Kapital.
The boy's name, of course, was Karl Marx. Today we know him as the man who developed modern atheistic communism, all because of what he saw in his father.
It is for reasons such as this that Jesus' countervailing tale of a Father who cares and stays and loves and can be counted on lies at the very heart of our religion. Only when we truly understand the meaning of "Father God" can we fully appreciate the wonder of our own existences and the significance of our religion.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 85
This is a wonderful psalm! Its power emanates from God's voice speaking peace to the people. It calls for the Shalom based union of justice and peace, and it asserts the coming of these realities with a sense of certainty that is nothing short of electrifying.
Yet even in the thrall of all the soaring verse and moving language, it's important to be mindful that this psalm isn't written from a perspective of power. Indeed, it's composed from a place of despair. These words come from a people who know what it's like to suffer from oppression, and who have felt the pangs of violence and warfare. They are a people who are out of steam and are looking for relief.
Thus comes the plea in verse 4. "Restore us again, O God! The Hebrew word that is translated into the English word "restore," is shub, which literally means to turn back. The writer of the Psalm, then, is asking God to forget (his) anger and to put things back the way they were. This is where it gets interesting. Is the prayer for restoration the right prayer for us to utter? If God is "speaking peace to the people," do we wish to be restored to our violent past? If God is calling for righteousness and peace to embrace, is restoration to the past what we really need to be lifting up in prayer?
For we who inhabit the pews in the Christian churches of North America, the restoration asked for in this Psalm is not an option. We cannot return to the past. Moreover, we should not return to the past. Instead of restoration the church of the twenty-first century needs to be seeking transformation. Rather than pining away about passed glory days the church needs to be reaching for the future glory that is ours in Christ Jesus.
Our prayer, then, is not for a return but for a new direction. Our prayer is not a hankering after good old days that, in truth, were never quite as good as we wish they were. Our prayer is not a bidding for God to do what we want. No. Our prayer is for us to have the courage to do what God is calling us to do. For God is speaking peace to the people. God is calling for an embrace of righteousness and peace. May God grant us the strength and courage to hear this call.
When they ran out of ideas for games, young Channing said, "Let's hide behind this curtain and maybe no one will know we're here!"
The girl never hesitated in her forlorn answer. She said, "Maybe no one will care!"
Can you imagine that?! A young child says about her own parents, "Maybe no one will care! Maybe no one will ever come to check on us! Maybe they will all forget about us, and we'll stand there till we die!"
All of our passages for today play on family ties, both weak and strong. Through Hosea God laments about the poor family relationships that have produced both religious and social dysfunction. Paul urges the Colossian Christians to renew their spiritual family ties in order to recover their appropriate identity. Jesus teaches his disciples about prayer by holding before them a warm and gracious photo of their heavenly Father.
Hosea 1:2-10
Israel's prophets often appear, at first glance, to be strange creatures. A number of them harangue with incessant tirades (e.g., Amos), making us uncomfortable to spend too much time with such grumpy old men. Some are constant political gadflies (e.g., Jeremiah), always taking positions opposite of those in power. Others veer off into strange visions that are worlds removed from our everyday life (e.g., Zechariah), chafing readers with their oddness. There are even a few who have very compromised personal lives (e.g., Hosea), leading us to suspect more than a little psychologizing in their soap opera-ish theology.
Still, there is an inherent consistency of message and focus among all of these diverse religious ruminations and rantings. The prophetic sermons are invariably rooted in the web of relationships created by the Sinai covenant. Israel belongs to Yahweh, and her lifestyle must be shaped by the stipulations of that Suzerain-Vassal treaty. Obedience to Yahweh triggers the Blessings of the Sinai covenant, while disobedience is the first reason for Israel's experiences of its curses: drought, war, famine, enemy occupation, destruction of cities and fields, deportation, and so forth. For this reason the prophetic writings are laced with moral diatribes that carry a strong emphasis on social ethics. As God would declare through Hosea, the dynamics of family life are a profound analogy to the way we interact with our Creator and Redeemer.
Hosea's oral and written communications are dated to the years 750-723 BC because of the rulers identified within the prophecy's pages. What is clear at the outset is that the man had a very bad marriage. Hosea's wife, Gomer, was a prostitute before they wed, and bore at least two sons during their time together. It is uncertain, though, whether these children were biologically related to Hosea, since Gomer was not one to stay in her marriage bed at night. Her escapades and his faithful pleadings, which sound more like a soap opera than a biblical drama, became the analogy for Yahweh's relationship with Israel. Through the voice of Hosea, Yahweh poignantly reviewed the past, detailing the amazing story of love that had brought young Israel into a very privileged and powerful position among the nations of the world. But this rehearsal grew bitter as both Hosea and Yahweh mourned their scorned loves, and wept for their respective wives who were each destroying themselves and their families.
Most marriages hit rough spots, but the drama of love between God and the community of faith is an astounding tale of energized commitments and hopelessly consistent failures. Only the divine initiatives make the story an epic romance that never goes out of style. No wonder Hosea's prophecy sounds like a modern soap opera or cheap paperback romance, and yet preaches like the greatest love story of all times. Indeed, that is exactly what it is.
Colossians 2:6-15 (16-19)
While Paul was in prison in Rome, probably near the end of 58 AD, an event took place that eventually elicited a new spate of letters from Paul: Onesimus, a runaway slave from Paul's friend Philemon, came to Rome and found Paul. Perhaps he was overwhelmed by this alien environment and heard that Paul, someone he had met a few years earlier, was in town. Or maybe Onesimus came to the city specifically because he knew Paul was there, remembering how kindly Paul had treated him while the itinerant evangelist was staying at Philemon's home. In any case, Onesimus and Paul had a joyful reunion, and for a time Onesimus lived with Paul, acting out the true value of his name, which meant "useful."
After a while, though, Paul began to have qualms about ignoring the property rights that bound Onesimus to Philemon. He was sure that he would sometime soon run into his old friend again, and this secret would not come to light without great damage to their relationship. In fact, Paul was beginning to make plans for his next travels after being released from prison, and wanted to see Philemon as one stop on that journey. Evidently Paul had received word that his case was soon to be on Caesar's docket, and knew from Herod Agrippa's testimony (Acts 26:32) that royal judgment would clearly be in his favor.
So, probably in early 59 AD, Paul made plans to send Onesimus back to Philemon, accompanied by a trusted friend named Tychicus. Paul penned a short note to Philemon, explaining Onesimus' circumstances, and pleading with his friend to treat the young man well.
About the same time, news had come to Paul regarding a doctrinal controversy threatening the church in Colossae. This congregation had been established under the ministry of Epaphras (Colossians 1:7-8), who was from that town (Colossians 4:12-13). Epaphras most likely heard the gospel about Jesus from Paul during Paul's stay in Ephesus, just down the Lycus and Maeander river valleys.
Since Colossae was very close to Philemon's home, Paul decided to send a letter to that congregation, addressing the concerns he had heard. Tychicus would deliver this letter as well (Colossians 4:7-9).
Paul's letter to the Colossians celebrates their widely recognized faithfulness as disciples of Jesus, and also the great majesty and power of the one they serve (Colossians 1:1-23). After a short testimony of Paul's immense care for the Colossian congregation (Colossians 1:24--2:5), he addresses the problem that was beginning to divide them (Colossians 2:6-23). While it is difficult to know what were the specific elements of the false teaching that some were embracing, it appears to have included the worship of angels, certain forms of asceticism, and possibly a unique version of how the commands given through Moses were to be kept. These slim details suggest to some that an early form of Gnosticism was taking root. Others find a Jewish connection, pushing for a Palestinian ritualistic legalism of the kind that Paul had reacted against so strongly in his letter to the Galatians. Whatever the case, Paul's response was to urge the congregation to focus on the superlative transformation brought by Jesus, which did not need to be supported with secondary rules and regulations.
In an almost counter-intuitive move, Paul goes on immediately to give what might be termed "rules" for Christian living. But these commands are more an explication of the social outcomes that emerge when the focus remains on Jesus (Colossians 3:1--4:1), rather than a new set of legalistic instructions. A few personal notes and many personnel reports bring Paul's letter to a conclusion (Colossians 4:2-18).
Luke 11:1-13
What we see in our fathers has a profound impact on the way we live. It is that way, as well, in our relationship with God. That's why when Jesus teaches his disciples about prayer and the values of life he begins by talking about fathers. You see, if we don't believe that God is a good father to us we will never begin to pray.
Jesus tells a little story to explain what he means when he talks about trusting God to care about us like a good father. That parable goes something like this: You're in your bed late one night and suddenly you hear a pounding at your door. Someone is calling out to you! Since your whole family is gathered around you in the sleeping quarters at the far end of your house, everyone is disturbed by the noise.
Why would anyone be out there so late at night? Well, in the heat of Palestinian summer nobody travels very far during the day. Your friend is on a journey, and he traveled after sundown, in the cool of the evening. Now he has finally arrived at your village.
That's why you roll away from your wife, and you try not to step on the kids, and you grab a little lamp, lighting the wick from the smoldering ashes of the cooking fire. Then you move back the sticks that keep the cattle out in the courtyard of your house. Of course, they all start to moo and beller and grunt, the way livestock does when disturbed at night.
All the while your friend is out there at the main door of your house, calling for you and knocking incessantly.
Finally you get to him. Then you have to spend fifteen minutes out there in the street going through a whole series of greetings. That's part of the culture. He would be insulted if you invited him in without this elaborate ritual.
Then you have to retrace your steps, guiding him at your side: disturbing the noisy cattle again, passing through the gate into your eating and sleeping quarters, treading carefully among your yawning children who are now stretching and rubbing their eyes.
Your wife is up. She knows what she's supposed to do. She says to you, "Honey, we don't have any bread!"
Well, that's okay, isn't it? You don't have to feed him at this hour, do you?!
Oh yes you do! Palestinian hospitality demands that you sit down together over a meal with a recently arrived guest, no matter what the hour, no matter what you were doing! No traveler ever comes to a home or an inn without a meal being set on the table immediately.
Perhaps you can do without bread. Maybe pull out a few leftovers.
Unfortunately not. In Palestine, during the first century, there is no cutlery for eating. Bread is used to dip the broth from the pot, or to pick up the vegetables from the soup. In a very poor household you might only have salted bread! That would be the whole meal!
In other words, no bread, no meal. That would be a terrible disgrace for the host and the traveler.
So the late night bothering has to start all over again. Only this time you are at the door of another friend's house down the street. How do you know that he will have bread to give you? Maybe they are out of bread too! Then you would be in deep trouble!
That won't be the case, however. You know for a fact that these people have bread and more than enough to share. You know it simply because this family baked bread that day at the community oven. Each family in town takes a turn. You know who was scheduled for that day, so you know who has the bread in the village.
Of course, that doesn't keep you from being a pest. You know what your friend is going through, there at the far end of his house, as you scratch at the door. You can hear the animals snorting and rolling inside. You can hear the children tossing and turning at the disturbance. You know he's not very pleased when he yells at you from the distance, "What's the matter out there?! What do you want?! Don't you know how late it is?!"
You apologize profusely, but you don't go away. You keep banging a little bit, and slowly relate the story of what is happening at your house. You know that your friend is thinking to himself, "Not now! We're settled for the night! We're trying to get some sleep! Come back in the morning!"
Still, you know that your friend will get up. He'll disturb all the children. He'll light the lamp and push back the sticks into the cattle courtyard. He'll grab some leftover bread, and stumble through the livestock, and probably even step in the manure. But he will meet you at the door, and he will give you what you want.
Why? Because the honor of the village is at stake when a traveler comes to town. Everyone will do what they can to meet the needs of hospitality.
When Jesus tells that story he helps them understand the character of their Father. Just as they know where to find the bread at night, so they can count on their Father in heaven to deliver the goods that are needed in their relationships that matter.
In fact, Jesus will sometimes use the Aramaic term "Abba" for Father. "Abba" means "Daddy!" The children in the marketplace shout it as they tug on their fathers' robes to get his attention: "Abba! Abba! Abba!"
That is the sense of what Jesus tells us about going to God in prayer. Daddies can fix anything that really needs fixing. Daddies are always there for us. Nothing means more to Daddies than our cares and concerns. And God is our Daddy in that sense.
Good fathers don't give their children everything they ask for. That would never help them grow properly in life. Yet what a child needs most a conscientious parent will always have in supply: the encouragement of worth, the confidence of belonging, the knowledge that someone truly cares. If you really need those things in life, you know where to find them. You also know that whenever you knock on that door, your Father will be there for you.
Application
Phil Moran tells of his early years of marriage, when four children were born to them almost in successive years. Sometimes he wondered how the house could be so busy -- the endless noise, the dirty diapers, the toys scattered everywhere.
The only place he could be alone for a few minutes, in order to think or just have some peace, was when he took a shower. He remembers that even there he was disturbed at times. Once his little daughter came banging on the door calling for him. He shouted back at her from the shower with a great voice of authority, "Can I have my privacy please?!"
The knocking stopped for just the briefest moment. As he breathed a sigh of relief the tiny voice returned, "Daddy! Where's your privacy? I can't find it!"
In Jesus' terms, God is a Father who gives up his privacy for us. He is never too busy to hear the things we want to tell him. He is never too occupied to listen to our cares and concerns. He is never too frustrated to spend time building his relationship with us. And that is the beginning of our feeble attempts at prayer.
Sometimes, of course, we forget that. Like Israel in the days of Hosea, or the Christians in Colossae, we are looking for the wrong things in the wrong places. If we remember our first and most important relationships, however, prayer and faith return.
Alternative Application
Luke 11:1-13. Years ago in Europe, a Jewish boy grew up with a profound sense of admiration for his father. His father was very religious. The family went to services at the synagogue each week. They practiced Jewish acts of devotion in their home, and his father took a leadership role in the Jewish religious community.
Then they moved to a new town. There most of the leading businessmen belonged to the local Lutheran church. So, suddenly, one day, the father announced to the family that they were all going to abandon their Jewish traditions and be baptized as members of the Lutheran church.
The boy was stunned. "Why?" he asked his Dad. "Why would we do something like that?!"
His father shattered him with the answer. It had nothing to do with spiritual convictions. It wasn't a sudden inspiration from God, or even a sense of disappointment with the Jewish faith. His father told him that it would be good for business. That's why they would become Christians.
The boy never recovered from the tremendous doubts that shook him that day, or the intense bitterness he felt over his father's sudden declarations. When he left home he went to England to study. There, at the British Museum he read, thought, and wrote. Eventually he published a book that described religion as the "opiate of the masses." Everything in life, he said, ultimately came down to economics. The bottom line is money. The title on his manuscript said it all: Das Kapital.
The boy's name, of course, was Karl Marx. Today we know him as the man who developed modern atheistic communism, all because of what he saw in his father.
It is for reasons such as this that Jesus' countervailing tale of a Father who cares and stays and loves and can be counted on lies at the very heart of our religion. Only when we truly understand the meaning of "Father God" can we fully appreciate the wonder of our own existences and the significance of our religion.
Preaching the Psalm
Psalm 85
This is a wonderful psalm! Its power emanates from God's voice speaking peace to the people. It calls for the Shalom based union of justice and peace, and it asserts the coming of these realities with a sense of certainty that is nothing short of electrifying.
Yet even in the thrall of all the soaring verse and moving language, it's important to be mindful that this psalm isn't written from a perspective of power. Indeed, it's composed from a place of despair. These words come from a people who know what it's like to suffer from oppression, and who have felt the pangs of violence and warfare. They are a people who are out of steam and are looking for relief.
Thus comes the plea in verse 4. "Restore us again, O God! The Hebrew word that is translated into the English word "restore," is shub, which literally means to turn back. The writer of the Psalm, then, is asking God to forget (his) anger and to put things back the way they were. This is where it gets interesting. Is the prayer for restoration the right prayer for us to utter? If God is "speaking peace to the people," do we wish to be restored to our violent past? If God is calling for righteousness and peace to embrace, is restoration to the past what we really need to be lifting up in prayer?
For we who inhabit the pews in the Christian churches of North America, the restoration asked for in this Psalm is not an option. We cannot return to the past. Moreover, we should not return to the past. Instead of restoration the church of the twenty-first century needs to be seeking transformation. Rather than pining away about passed glory days the church needs to be reaching for the future glory that is ours in Christ Jesus.
Our prayer, then, is not for a return but for a new direction. Our prayer is not a hankering after good old days that, in truth, were never quite as good as we wish they were. Our prayer is not a bidding for God to do what we want. No. Our prayer is for us to have the courage to do what God is calling us to do. For God is speaking peace to the people. God is calling for an embrace of righteousness and peace. May God grant us the strength and courage to hear this call.
