By Mark Azzara
My Dear Friend,
I told you recently that a bunch of us guys were studying Henri J.M. Nouwen’s book “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” The study ended Saturday — nine chapters plus the prologue, introduction and epilogue in four weeks.
My advice: Don’t ever attempt that. It was insane. It was a rush, but not the good kind.
I had all I could do to read the chapters and think about them briefly. On Friday night, the night before the last session, I tried reading the epilogue while volunteering at a Christian coffeehouse, but I was so distressed by some of the imagery that I couldn’t finish it.
Put yourself in my position. After the coffeehouse chores were done around 11 p.m., I got a bit more than five hours sleep, then had two men’s meetings to attend on Saturday morning, starting at 7 a.m., after which I stopped at a market, did a few house chores and sacked out for a 90-minute nap before heading out around 4 p.m. for worship. Then home in a snowstorm.
Needless to say, by the end of the day I was fried, in more ways than one. I don’t know about you, but when I’m fried physically and mentally, and then I spend time thinking about the day that made me that way, I can easily get even more fried.
I was ticked off at the guy who had organized this book study, even though he had purchased copies of the book for us as a gift. Rather than treating Nouwen’s book like a fine wine that must be sipped and savored over many months because of the profound content, we were expected to wolf it down and digest it in four weeks.
Late Saturday I self-righteously grumbled that I would now need to find the time to reread this book, slowly and patiently, over several months if I am to get anything life-changing out of it.
But the imagery of Jesus’ parable – the father running to meet his wayward, confessional son – reminded me of Jesus’ words on the cross, “Forgive them, Father, for they don’t know what they’re doing.” This was exactly the forgiveness that the father lavished on his son.
On Sunday morning I faced a choice. I could say those words and lavish forgiveness on the friend who had imposed this difficult deadline for reasons I may never fathom. Or I could stay fried. So I said the words.
As I prayed on Sunday about Saturday’s events, I realized that regardless of the speed with which we read this book, we nevertheless had several opportunities to hear each other speak about the struggles we face as we attempt to apply the lessons of the parable and Nouwen’s commentary to our lives. That alone was something for which I am grateful, which led me to the realization that I, too, needed to ask God to forgive me, for my self-righteousness.
When I went to bed last night, having written what you’ve just read, I thought this letter was finished. Uh-uh. Something even darker lurked within me, something I didn’t realize until this morning during prayer.
When I voiced my dislike for the imagery Nouwen used in the epilogue, especially since it pertained to something going on in my life at that moment, the discussion leader challenged my view directly. He said my theology was OK, and totally understandable, but he dared to suggest that God might be more than my purely theological understanding of him.
And none of the other guys came to my defense. One said I should continue to pray and surrender this difficult circumstance to God, and wait for his loving reply. But I still didn’t like what the discussion leader had said because, as you can probably imagine, I intensely disliked the feeling that I had just been humiliated.
Then the leader got off his butt, came over to me and embraced me, shouting as if he were God, “I love you! I love you! Take the love. Put that book down and embrace me, too. I want your love! I need you to love me!”
Fast forward to now, as I remember that moment while sitting here, writing this in the morning light as more than the sun dawns. What also dawns on me is that I need to ask God to forgive me, too, for rebelling against his gift of humility – his gift of wisdom that makes me aware I don’t know anywhere near as much as I think I do, and that my friends know more than I think they do.
I am not saying that my friend is correct in his challenge to me. I am not saying that I am correct. I’m saying that God will reveal truth about my circumstance when it’s time, and not one second sooner, and that I have no right to presume I already know what that truth is. In the meantime I must deal with the truth he’s revealing to me now.
There is only one truth I know at this moment with regard to our study. Even if we’d read the book one chapter per month, as has been customary with previous books we’ve tackled, there would still be more to think about after the study was over. That’s the way it is when God speaks. There’s no end to the learning that goes on when He begins to teach. That means it’s not really my friend’s fault that I didn’t get the entire message of Jesus’ parable because, no matter how much time I devote to it, I never will.
All God’s blessings – Mark
