MANY PRODIGALS, MANY RETURNS

MANY PRODIGALS, MANY RETURNS The Joy of the Turnabout

The Road Home

The land looks much the same And the peaceful country lane, Winding gently past the fields my youth had known; And again I feel the breeze, Hear the birds, smell the trees; But I wonder if a welcome waits at home.

Much too long ago it seems, I had yielded to false dreams And embarked a self-sufficient prince, I thought; On a pleasure-seeking quest, With a yearning for life’s best.

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C. 2012, Doug Blair

Oh what woe and waste my birth-right soon had bought!

All the women and the wine And the friends I thought were mine Quickly stripped my purse and pride down to the bone,.

Then, quite destitute of aid In the mire my ways had made, I remembered bye-gone family times, alone.

How the father of my youth Had displayed a love for truth, And for righteous work and ways to chart one’s course.

And no doubt reports had come Of the folly of his son, Of the family riches lost without remorse.

Could I somehow still return?

Could I live and lose and learn?

Could I yet retrieve the joy that I once had?

But, unworthy as a son, Let me just return as one Who will toil at servant’s chores and still be glad.

As I pace the final mile, I am haunted all the while By the thoughts of how to say what must be said.

It seems much too much to me To expect their sympathy, And the look upon my father’s face I dread.

But my homecoming is this!

First my father’s hug and kiss And his ring and robe placed on my wasted frame.

Ere I barely can repent, All the house-servants are sent To prepare a lavish feast held in my name.

Oh, the depths of mercy shown By my father for his own; And what patient faith and prayers had led to this.

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I just had to turn around And abandon wayward ground To receive such sweet forgiveness and such bliss.

(What had started out so fine But had left me tending swine Was a selfish heart beguiling me to roam.

Thank you, Father God above For the chastening of your love, That I might find celebration in your home.)

Of Fathers and Forgiveness

In a chat with a friend earlier today the topic got around to the Prodigal Son in Luke 15. We were agreed that the dark cloud in the story was not the returning wastrel but rather the self-righteous elder brother, who confirmed that he had always operated out of painful duty to honour his father (not out of love or thankfulness).

I would suggest that the story infers another dark image; the farm neighbour down the road who earlier saw the boy hiking in rags and filth and a hangdog countenance, and got "on the telephone" to forewarn the Father: "Chester, it's Lloyd. How ya doin'? Say, Chester I want you to know that that no-good boy of yours Flip is about five minutes from your front door. He looks awful. He must have really blown whatever opportunities he thought that he might have had. Has nothing to show for it. Probably frittered away a lot of your hard earned cash in the process. I wouldn't blame you man if you refused him into your house. Thankless young punk. Just like so many of them today. My eldest Roger included. Haven't seen him in nine years.

Rumour has it he is hooked up with some divorcee on the Coast. Might never see him again. No loss.

Well I thought I should give you the heads-up. After all, what are neighbours

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for? Hopefully he won't hang around for long. Talk to ya soon." Click.

But we all know what the Father in the parable did do at the earliest possible opportunity. Read it once a month and for so long as it takes you to get a true look at the eager, loving heart of our Heavenly Father. You will cherish that Heart. You will draw close. (Luke 15:11-32)

Prodigal Daughter

In an anthology of sorts on prodigals, Ruth Bell Graham presented a portion from "Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush" by Ian Maclaren. It told of old widower Lachlan Campbell, and his daughter Flora who opted to leave the ways and life of the small town of Drumtochty for the excitement and questionable prospects of London.

The father considered his daughter lost to him and reported his decision to elders of the Kirk. This hard line drawn in the sand was mentioned to Marget Howe (the main female character in the book). In a personal visit to the miserable Lachlan she attempted to explain how his deceased wife might have handled the problem of the errant daughter. She suggested a letter to London which she would draft and mail in the stead of the missing mother.

Following is the account of Flora's return (some of the most sensitive writing I have ever enjoyed): "Ye've hed a lang journey, Miss Cammil, and ye maun be nearly dune wi' tire; juist ye sit still till the fouk get awa', and the guid wife and me wud be prood if ye took a cup o' tea wi's afore ye stairted hame. A'll come for ye as sune as a' get the van emptied and ma little trokes feenished."

Peter hurried up to his cottage in such hot haste that his wife came out in great alarm.

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"Na, their's naethin' wrang; it's the opposite way this nicht. Ye mind o' Flora Cammil that left her father, and name o' the Drumtochty fouk wud say onything aboot her. Weel, she's in the train, and a've asked her up tae rest, and she was gled tae come, puir thing. Sae gie her a couthy welcome, wumman, and the best in the hoose, for oors 'ill be the first roof she 'ill be under on her way hame."

Our women do not kiss one another like the city ladies; but the motherly grip of Mary Bruce's hand sent a thrill to Flora's heart.

"Noo a' ca' this rael kind o' ye, Miss Cammil, tae come in withoot ceremony, and a'd be terrible pleased if ye would dae it ony time yer traivellin'. The rail is by ordinar' fateegin', and a cup o' tea 'ill set ye up," and Mary had Flora in the best chair, and was loading her plate with homely dainties.

Peter would speak of nothing but the new engine that was coming, and was to place the Kildrummie branch beyond ridicule for ever, and on this great event he continued without intermission till he parted with Flora on the edge of the pine woods that divided Drumtochty from Kildrummie.

"Gude nicht tae ye, Miss Cammil, and thank ye again for yir veesit.

Bring the auld man wi' ye next time ye're passing, though a'm feared ye've been deived (deafened) wi' the engine."

Flora took Peter's hand, that was callous and rough with the turning of brakes and the coupling of chains.

"It wass not your new engine you wass thinking about this night, Peter Bruce, but a poor girl that iss in trouble. I hef not the words, but I will be remembering your house, oh yes, as long as I live."

Twice Peter stood on his way home; the first time he slapped his leg and chuckled: "Sall, it was gey clever o' me; a hale kerridge o' Drumtochty lads, and no ane o' them ever hed a glint o' her."

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At the second stoppage he drew his hand across his eyes.

"Puir lassie, a' houp her father 'ill be kind tae her, for she's sair broken, and looks liker deith than life."

No one can desire a sweeter walk than through a Scottish pine wood in late September, where you breathe the healing resinous air, and the ground is crisp and springy beneath your feet, and gentle animals dart away on every side, and here and there you come on an open space with a pool, and a brake of gorse. Many a time on market days Flora had gone singing through these woods, plucking a posy of wild flowers and finding a mirror in every pool, as young girls will; but now she trembled and was afraid. The rustling of the trees in the darkness, the hooting of an owl, the awful purity of the moonlight in the glades, the cold sheen of the water, were to her troubled conscience omens of judgment. Had it not been for the kindness of Peter Bruce, which was a pledge of human forgiveness, there would have been no heart in her to dare that wood, and it was with a sob of relief she escaped from the shadow and looked upon the old glen once more, bathed from end to end in the light of the harvest moon. Beneath her ran our little river, spanned by its quaint old bridge; away on the right the Parish Kirk peeped out from a clump of trees; half way up the glen the clachan lay surrounded by patches of corn; and beyond were the moors, with a shepherd's cottage that held her heart. Two hours ago squares of light told of warmth and welcome within; but now, as Flora passed one house after another, it seemed as if every one she knew was dead, and she was forgotten in her misery. Her heart grew cold, and she longed to lie down and die, when she caught the gleam of a lighted window. Some one was living still to know she had repented, and she knelt down among the flowers with her ear to the glass to hear the sound of a human voice. Archie Moncur had come home late from a far-away job, but he must needs have worship with his sister before they went to bed, and well did he choose the psalm that night. Flora's tears rained upon the mignonette as the two old people sang: "When Sion's bondage God turned back, As men that dreamed were we, Then filled with laughter was our mouth, Our tongue with melody;" 6

while the fragrance of the flowers went up as incense unto God. All the way along the glen the last words of the psalm still rang in her ears, "Rejoicing shall return," but as she touched the footpath to her home, courage failed her. Marget had written for her dead mother, but no one could speak with authority for her father. She knew the pride of his religion and his iron principles. If he refused her entrance, then it had been better for her to have died in London. A turn of the path brought her within sight of the cottage, and her heart came into her mouth, for the kitchen window was a blaze of light. One moment she feared Lachlan might be ill, but in the next she understood, and in the greatness of her joy she ran the rest of the way. When she reached the door, her strength had departed, and she was not able to knock. But there was no need, for the dogs, who never forget nor cast off, were bidding her welcome with short joyous yelps of delight, and she could hear her father feeling for the latch, which for once could not be found, and saying nothing but "Flora, Flora."

She had made up some kind of speech, but the only word she ever said was "Father," for Lachlan, who had never even kissed her all the days of her youth, clasped her in his arms and sobbed out blessings over her head, while the dogs licked her hands with their soft, kindly tongues.

"It iss a peety you hef not the Gaelic," Flora said to Marget afterwards; "it iss the best of all languages for loving. There are fifty words for darling, and my father would be calling me every one that night I came home."

That Jonah, Newton

"I tell ya Chester, that Newton's a Jonah, he is. Temper quick as mercury.

Wicked tongue ta shame even my drunken Uncle Tammas. He's no good for tha ship, I fear. Be lookin' fer whales, boy. Be lookin' fer this storm to roise."

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The other, moving his pipe to the opposite side of the large jaw, mumbled, "Mmmm... Why is it d'ya think that Captin shows 'im such peticular favour?

Even afore I came belowdecks he had turned over the helm to John. I've had no fearsome grief from the lad, ceptin' for his dour looks betimes. But still ye could be right, old friend."

And above, John Newton gripped the wheel these past forty minutes and noted the coming screech in the rigging. The plaintive growl and roll of the big hull. The wash of water being taken in. The pounding of his own heart.

He had overheard a little of the "Jonah talk". Had seen the increasing scowls on the faces of men without guile. Men who were loyal and brave, but gravely superstitious. Was he near the end? Were all of them?

After ninety minutes, relief came to peel the rigid hands from the wheel and to slap the back and to push toward the staircase. A dozen paces from his station, a giant surge soaked the deck and hurled John to the rail.

He thought, 'Oh wretched, lost, vile, friendless man that I am'. Hurried below.

In the closeness of his bunk, the others elsewhere on duty, he felt as condemned as the black cargo of despairing souls he had sometimes transported; as far from the love of God or man as that rebellious prophet at the bottom of the sea. Though Newton had never received theretofore any message or mission from on high. But now words and petitions were issuing from his innermost person, and a sense of the presence of God was leading him on and driving the storm from his consciousness.

That night of May 10, 1748, one godless sea-farer received the quickening realization and release of "Amazing Grace". His subsequent message, music and ministry would help end the slave trade in the British Empire; would help many souls of all colours to cast off the shackles of unbelief and trespass.

Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, And grace my fears relieved.

How precious did that grace appear The hour I first believed.

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Manasseh, Bad Apple

Hezekiah had exercised a righteous influence over Judah. He had removed idolatrous worship. He had boldly resisted the threats of the mighty King of Assyria, Sennacherib, outside his walls. He had sought the input of the prophet Isaiah on many important issues. He had prayed his way through a life-threatening illness. One of the mighty prayers of the Old Testament is his. (Isaiah 37:15-29) But his son was another matter. Doubtless he had seen Manasseh rolling his eyes at traditional worship and looking with interest at the idols and lasciviousness of the neighbouring nations. Doubtless Hezekiah had taken his son's tendencies before the Lord in earnest prayer. But the old King died without concrete evidence that his prayers were being answered.

The new king in time totally reversed the measures of his father. Bringing in an abominable variety of idols, temple prostitution, spiritualism, child sacrifice, desecration of the house of God (installing a monument to the Queen of Heaven). But God would not allow this to continue. Read the account in 2 Chronicles 33: 10And the LORD spake to Manasseh, and to his people: but they would not hearken.

11Wherefore the LORD brought upon them the captains of the host of the king of Assyria, which took Manasseh among the thorns, and bound him with fetters, and carried him to Babylon.

12And when he was in affliction, he besought the LORD his God, and humbled himself greatly before the God of his fathers, 13And prayed unto him: and he was intreated of him, and heard his supplication, and brought him again to Jerusalem into his kingdom. Then Manasseh knew that the LORD he was God. 14Now after this he built a wall without the city of David, on the west side of Gihon, in the valley, even to the entering in at the fish gate, and compassed about Ophel, and raised it up a very great height, and put captains of war in 9

all the fenced cities of Judah.

15And he took away the strange gods, and the idol out of the house of the LORD, and all the altars that he had built in the mount of the house of the LORD, and in Jerusalem, and cast them out of the city.

16And he repaired the altar of the LORD, and sacrificed thereon peace offerings and thank offerings, and commanded Judah to serve the LORD God of Israel.

Are you praying for the reform of a child, a spouse, a neighbour, a friend, a civic leader? Remember the effectual fervent prayers of Hezekiah and the wicked son brought back home. The reversal of heart in this story almost defies belief!

Drop the Sack!

(From Our Daily Homily by F. B. Meyer) Strive to enter in at the strait gate - Luke 13:24 The question which the disciples asked was for their gratification and curiosity. Men have always been curious to know what will be the numerical result of the Redeemer's work. But to such questions the Lord had no reply.

He was only eager that none of those whom He loved should miss the full measure of blessedness that was within His reach; therefore He bade each be sure of entering the narrow door, so narrow that there is no room to carry through it the love of self, the greed of gain, the thirst for the applause and rewards of the world.

We may be saved from the penalty of sin by one single glance at the Saviour, who lived, and died, and lives forevermore; but we cannot be saved in the deepest meaning of the word, in the sense of being delivered from the love and power of sin, unless we are willing to enter through a door, so constructed and straight, that it seems impossible to effect an entrance. Art 10

thou willing for this, willing to leave behind thy amassed and hardly-gained treasures, thy luggage and impedimenta, thy jewels and gew-gaws, thy certificate of merit and credentials, thy notions of self-importance, the weights which thou hast carried so long, the pillows with which thou art always sparing thyself from the stern realities and efforts of a noble life? If thou art willing for this, and prepared to strive, even to the rending of thyself asunder, then thou shalt be saved from the love and tyranny of that wild, dark power, which, hitherto, has always dragged thee downward.

It is not enough to eat and drink of the blessed memorial supper, nor to listen to the voice of Jesus teaching in His Church. Many may do all this, and yet never be included in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Note: I am reminded of the image in Pilgrim's Progress by Bunyan where Christian has been troubled by a heavy sack which he has been carrying. He gets to a narrow gate and through it he sees the Cross. He is compelled to set down his load, his sin, as he looks ahead. The very same image is also found in the movie The Mission starring Robert DeNiro. It is set in Conquistadore times in South America. DeNiro has resolved to climb a cliff beside a waterfall. He is headed for a native village where a Jesuit mission is being established. He wants to become a different man. But he cannot make the climb with his load strapped to his back. The natives are entertained by his efforts and finally cut away the sack. As he watches it fall to the waters below, he knows that he is free.

Assurances in Christ

I have spoken to people at times about the blessing and indomitable hope of a present assurance of salvation.

The look on their faces tells me that they do not get it. They are still thinking in terms of some giant chalkboard somewhere, some giant tally, where all of their good points and all of their bad have been listed. The net gain or loss of their good works determines their ultimate fate. Joy in the presence of the Lord, or anguish forever to be separated from His glory and peace. They are 11

thinking and behaving as did the people of the Old Testament. They are waiting for their day of "reckoning" (at its root an accounting word).

But Grace tells us to remember that day when we confessed our sinfulness and trusted in the obedience and "dues-paying" of another, the Lord Jesus.

Remember Romans 10: 8

But what saith it? The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart: that is, the word of faith, which we preach; 9That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.

10For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.

It is like the story of the man who knelt at the Gospel Tent Meeting and "made his peace". At the end of the service he came back to that very spot with hammer and spike and nailed the sharp bare metal into the ground. He turned to one at his side and said, 'I intend to leave it there. In the future whenever I am being challenged as to what has been accomplished this night, I will be able to return and behold the place of my change, my new birth. This is a done deal.'

In the new family likeness of Jesus, we have family entitlement, ongoing family safekeeping and guidance and blessed assurance of approaching glorious family reunion, secure against all evil and woeful judgment.

Yes, saved in three senses of the word. Past. Present. Future.

On this Easter Morning we rejoice in Christ's resurrection. God was saying in this fulfilment of prophecy (Psalm 16), 'Jesus is the one; the foretold suffering servant who would stand in for your sins; pay the price of law; unveil the sure inheritance of mercy; trust in His FINISHED work.'

Note: One day years ago, I was feeling quite dejected about some issues, and walking from the bus along the railroad line to the east limit of our factory property. On the ground was a railroad spike, loose beside the rail. I picked it up. Symbol of intense suffering at Calvary. Symbol of my liberty and assurance. Even then I knew the story of the Gospel Tent. I still have the spike.

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