Dear St. Mary’s Church and friends,
He is risen! (You should shout in response, “He is risen, indeed!” Don’t worry about what your family thinks.) We are in the Great Fifty Days of Easter, which end with Pentecost (May 31 this year). Lent, the time of penitence, lasts forty days. Easter, the time of rejoicing, lasts for fifty. That tells you where our priorities are. During Lent you’re expected to fast. During Easter you’re not allowed to fast. I was on the phone recently with someone, and then I realized that I didn’t have a cigar to enjoy on the back porch. The person observed that it was Easter and agreed it was a good time to live it up, since we don’t confess our sins during this season. It’s a common misunderstanding. We feast on good things! It’s not a time of mere indulgence, when we can neglect the rules for a time. Feasting is itself a Christian discipline. If you keep the Church’s feast days, you are liable to become more like Jesus by doing so. Have a glass of wine and grow in holiness. Grill a steak and become more like the revered Saints of the Church. There is still a sacrifice you’re expected to make, but it’s nothing other than the sacrifice of thanksgiving. You’re only homework during this time is to receive the good things of your Heavenly Father with a grateful heart.
I’m reminded of the story Jesus tells about a wayward son who finally comes home, the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11ff). A feast is at the center of the story, when the boy finally returns and the father throws a big party. But the son’s older brother, who has always done what he’s supposed to do, won’t go into the feast. He’s bitter about the good treatment his screw-up brother is getting. It’s a sharp story, especially as you realize that the rule-keeping older brother is just as distant from his father’s heart as his rebellious brother. And in both cases, the feast itself is spiritual medicine.
I wonder if you can see yourself in either brother. The younger brother goes big, turning his life into one big party—until he runs out of supplies. Then his life becomes a literal pigsty. Little did he know, his father would have been so delighted to celebrate with him. Then there’s the older brother. He is dutiful and obedient. He follows all of the rules. And he looks smugly down his nose at those who don’t keep the rules. But it turns out that love is not what motivates him. He thought he could gain some leverage in his relationship with his father by so carefully sticking to the book.
When the rebellious son finally comes home, he thinks his dad is going to ring his neck. Instead, his father runs to him and embraces him. The son starts talking about servitude, but the father doesn’t even listen; he calls out to his servants to bring out the finest robe and start getting ready for the feast. But then the bitter older brother won’t come into the party, so the father goes out to speak with him. He gives this son the same medicine as he gave the first! The father looks at his son—his bitter, judgmental son—and says this to him: “All that is mine is yours.”
How do you see yourself in the household of God? Do you have your life together and tend to think poorly of people who don’t? Do you show great self-restraint in holding things together, but then you’re proud of all your successes? Being responsible, accountable, dependable—these are very good things to be. But the danger to beware of is that in God’s household you might feel like your Father doesn’t really want you to be here. I earnestly hope you’re not walking on eggshells because you think your heavenly Father is prone to outbursts of anger or that he’ll put you out if you slip up. Or that he’s distant and neglectful, that the world is resting on your shoulders, and you can’t rest yourself, that you can’t let yourself have some fun or else it will all fall apart.
On the other hand, are you feasting? Or are you sneaking food from the pantry, hoping you don’t get caught? Do you gobble down food—or drink or TV or sexual experiences or video games or exciting bits of news—like a child off the streets who doesn't really trust that the next meal is going to be there? In both cases, what we need is to discover how much our Father loves us.
If you struggle to see yourself as a welcomed child, with a special place in your Father’s heart and a guaranteed place in his home, then the world has probably done a number on you. A damaged self-image can come about in many ways. Our relationship to our earthly parents is often involved—angry parents, manipulative parents, nitpicking parents, distant parents. But it can happen in other ways. Secret societies (like the Free Masons or certain fraternities and sororities) can instill a sense that your belonging is tenuous. False religious experiences can warp your self-image (like the manipulative kindness of an unloving parent). Or a spouse can spend years hanging divorce over your head. Or it could just run in the family, if that’s how your parents saw themselves.
Ask the Lord about it. Ask him to bring to light what you really think about yourself. Then ask him, point-blank, what caused you to think of yourself that way. If he shows you, ask him what he means to do about it. Will he lead you to forgive someone? To renounce something you’ve done, some experience or some vow you made? Will you renounce some lie about what he’s like that you picked up from some difficult experience? Let him guide you. Finally, ask your Father to show you his heart. Easter’s a great time for it. After all, he sent his Son Jesus, even into death itself, to find you and rescue you. Listen. Hear him speak those words into your heart: All that is mine is yours.
Happy Easter.
Stephen+
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