Today is fathers day and I want to honor each father present. I hope your fathering is smooth and effective and I wish I could say, “trouble free”. However, having been there and done that I know being a father can bring times of joy and times of sadness, times of hope and times of despair, times of tears and times of laughter, times of patience and times of anger. But being a father is perhaps one of the greatest privileges a man can be given. It is at the same time an awesome responsibility. You see as fathers we have been given the opportunity to mold another human being.
Tell me who your father is, and I’ll tell you who you are.
Let every father remember that one day his children will follow his
example instead of his advice.
Whether you are just beginning as a father or your children are grown
you have the opportunity to influence your children as well as your
grand
children.
Today I want to focus on a portion of scripture that is referred to as the “ Parable of the Prodigal Son”. Although this sermon is directed to fathers it has application for all in the Body of Christ.
TEXT:Luke 15:11-32
PROPOSITION:
Fathers we are to be like our heavenly Father. Jesus is our
example
- if we know Him - we know the Father.
INTERROGATIVE SENTENCE:
What are some of the characteristics of our heavenly father that we
see in this parable?
TRANSITIONAL SENTENCE:
There are some characteristics of this father that Jesus mentions that
every father should understand and emulate. The first of these is
he was approachable.
MAIN DIVISIONS AND SUBDIVISIONS
2. Dad’s are you the first one your kids think of when they are in
trouble
... or the last?
A lot depends on how approachable you have been for them.
3. If each time they have come to you in the past they found a grumpy, vindictive tyrant who showed little or no compassion or understanding you’ll be the last one they go to, if they go to you at all.
4. I learned something a few years ago. I have been in management in some large companies. I have held some very important jobs, done some very important work, met some very important people - a few of which I could call friend - gone to many important places.
But I found out that my children are not impressed with who I am or where I go or the business card I carry in my pocket. You are not going to believe this. My children are not impressed that I am a Pastor. Do you know what would impress my children, or grand-children. That I would set down & spend time with them.
I woke up to something a little late in life. I woke up to the fact that my children are only impressed with one thing from me. Do you know what that is? My time & attention. PERIOD. That's it!!
You see, that's what they expect. They expect that this bald headed guy with a bowtie, is God's gift for them. They are terribly selfish. And they ought to be. They ought to be.
I'll tell you what discourages my children & grand-children,
they
get real discouraged when I'm too busy. When I'm too serious. When I'm
too big. When I too bitter. When I'm too bothered.
TOO BUSY! TOO BUSY! When I worked in the secular world and my children
were at home, I worked hard. I would even bring work home with me &
do reports & prepare schedules and plans at home. And how many time
my children have come to me "Dad, let's go play , let's do this or
that,
& I would say, 'I'm too busy."
Fathers be approachable... its never to late to start. If your
children are grown you can still become approachable.
5. Relate story of Cathy - leaving home - remaining approachable - the blessings!
TRANSITION:
The next characteristic we see in this father is that he was Spiritual.
2. Perhaps. But may I remind you of the meaning of this parable at the time Jesus spoke it? It was spoken to a group of grumbling Pharisees and scribes who were upset that Jesus would receive sinners and eat with them (v. 15:2).
3. Each character in the parable represented someone.
The younger son represented the sinners who were coming to Jesus
because he was approachable.
The older son represented the Pharisees and scribes who thought that Jesus should have nothing to do with such people because they had squandered their lives.
Who, then, did the father represent?
The father in this parable is God the Father and what this whole
thing is showing us is that God will receive a sinner back
if he repents.
4. Now, back to my original question. If a man loses one of his kids, does that mean he is unspiritual? The father in this story lost one of his for a time, didn't he? .And who does the father in this account represent? God! Is God unspiritual?
5. This boy had been taught the truth. This father hadn't neglected his responsibility. I base my on verse 18. In the second half of that verse it says,"Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight." Then he said it again in verse 21: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight." This boy knew the truth and it is most likely that it was his father who taught it to him.
6. Yet, the boy had free will. He was capable of taking the precious things his father had taught him and casting them aside.
Why do I say these things? Because I know that some of you have
watched
helplessly as your children, brought up in homes to love and serve the
Lord, have pushed it all aside, deserted that teaching, and gone their
own way. Believe me, when it happens, you feel lower than a snakes
belly!
I know!
7. Does it mean you have failed? It certainly feels that way! And,
it is possible that you have failed if you have neglected your
responsibilities
to them.
A father who cares nothing for the raising and training of his kids
is most certainly a failure, whether they depart or not. But some of
you
have taken your responsibility seriously. You've done your job and yet,
seen your kids depart. I say, it isn't necessarily a forgone
conclusion
that you have failed. Some of God's children have departed as well.
Oh, but doesn't it say in Proverbs 22:6, "Train up a child in the
way
he should go, even when he is old he will not depart from it." Yes it
does,
but is that statement an absolute guarantee that with the right
training,
your child will never go astray and that if he does, you have failed?
Be
careful in your answer. If that verse was intended to be an absolute,
iron
clad statement, then the rest of the Proverbs should be taken that way,
too - as absolute, ironclad, never-fail statements. Can they be taken
that
way?
How about this one: Prov 12:11: "He who tills his land will have plenty
of bread..." Is that a guarantee that hardworking farmers will never be
forced to file bankruptcy?I know a lot of farmers who would argue with
you on that one.
What about this one: Prov 16:13: "Righteous lips are the delight of
kings, and he who speaks right is loved."
Is that an absolute statement? Are those who speak with righteous lips
always loved? Do I need to remind you of Jesus, whose lips were more
righteous
than any man, yet they hated Him and crucified Him?
Proverbs are statements of general truth. They guide.They point
direction.
We get in trouble, though, when we try to make them absolutes that are
true in every case.
Is the rest of the Bible to be interpreted that way? No.The rest of
the Bible isn't made up of proverbs.
This father was spiritual. Fathers today must be, too. Men, don't
depend
on your wife to do it. Don't think you can "let her take care of the
religion
in the family."It's your responsibility. If you neglect this
responsibility
it, you deserve to be called a failure.
TRANSITION:
Finally, let’s look at one more characteristic of this father.
This father was compassionate.
It is probably safe to say that he thought the boy should be disowned!
3. Verse 32 tells us how the father felt, “But we had to celebrate
and
be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he
was lost and is found.”
To him, the boy's return was like life from the dead. His
possessions,his
reputation, compared to that, didn't matter.
Dads, are we compassionate men toward our children? Do we show them unconditional love? Do we forgive them? Are we open to reconciliation?
When they mess up and repent, do we accept them back joyfully, or do we disown them or distance ourselves from them?
Look at the example of this father and you'll have your
answer.
Beyond that, consider that you will not always have the opportunity to
be compassionate.
When was the last time your hugged your kids, kissed them and told
them you loved them? DO IT!
Relate story of Dad - after I became born again - hugged and kissed
him - and he thought he was a big bad marine.
TRANSITION:
I believe the following story illustrates what we have been talking
about.
The hospital was unusually quiet that bleak January evening, quiet
and
still like the air before a storm. I stood in the nurse's station on
the
seventh floor and glanced at the clock. It was 9 P.M.
I threw a stethoscope around my neck and headed for room 712, last
room on the hall. Room 712 had a new patient, Mr. Williams. A man
all alone. A man strangely silent about his family.
As I entered the room, Mr. Williams looked up eagerly, but dropped his eyes when he saw it was only me, his nurse. I pressed the stethoscope over his chest and listened. Strong, slow, even beating. Just what I wanted to hear. There seemed little indication he had suffered a slight heart attack a few hours earlier.
He looked up from his starched white bed. "Nurse, would you
--"
He hesitated, tears filled his eyes. Once before he had started to ask
me a question, but had changed his mind. I touched his hand.
He brushed away a tear. "Would you call my daughter?Tell her I've had
a heart attack. A slight one. You see,I live alone and she is the only
family I have." His respiration suddenly speeded up.
I turned on his nasal oxygen up to eight liters a minute. "Of course
I'll call her," I said, studying his face.
He gripped the sheets and pulled himself forward, his face tense with
urgency. "Will you call her right away -- as soon as you can? He was
breathing
fast - too fast.
"I'll call her the very first thing," I said, patting his
shoulder.
I flipped off the light. He closed his eyes, such young blue eyes in
his 50-year-old face.
Room 712 was dark except for a faint night light under the sink. Oxygen
gurgled in the green bed. Reluctant to leave, I moved through the
shadowy silence to the window. The panes were cold. Below a foggy mist
curled through the hospital parking lot.
"Nurse," he called, "could you get me a pencil and paper?"
I dug a scrap of yellow paper and a pen from my pocket and set it on
the bedside table.
I walked back to the nurses' station and sat in a squeaky swivel chair
by the phone. Mr. Williams'
daughter was listed on his chart as the next of kin. I got her
number from information and dialed. Her soft voice answered.
"Janie, this is Sue Kidd, a registered nurse at the hospital.
I'm calling about your father. He was admitted tonight with a
slight
heart attack and --"
"No!" she screamed into the phone, startling me. "He's not dying is
he?"
"His condition is stable at the moment," I said, trying hard to sound
convincing.
Silence. I bit my lip. "You must not let him die!" she said. Her voice
was so utterly compelling that my hand trembled on the phone.
"He's getting the very best care."
"But you don't understand," she pleaded. "My daddy and I haven't
spoken in almost a year. We had a terrible argument on my 21st
birthday,
over my boyfriend. I ran out of the house. I haven't been back. All
these
months I've wanted to go to him for forgiveness. The last thing I said
to him was, "I hate you."
Her voice cracked and I heard her heave great agonizing sobs. I sat,
listening, tears burning my eyes. A father and a daughter, so lost to
each
other. Then I was thinking of my own father, many miles away. It has
been
so long since I had said, "I love you."
As Janie struggled to control her tears, I breathed a prayer.
"Please
God, let this daughter find
forgiveness."
"I'm coming. Now! I'll be there in 30 minutes," she said. Click. She
had hung up.
I tried to busy myself with a stack of charts on the desk. I couldn't
concentrate. Room 712; I knew I had to get back to 712. I hurried
down the hall nearly in a run. I opened the door.
Mr. Williams lay unmoving. I reached for his pulse.There was none.
"Code 99, Room 712. Code 99. Stat." The alert was shooting
through
the hospital within seconds after I called the switchboard through the
intercom by the bed.
Mr. Williams had had a cardiac arrest.
With lightning speed I leveled the bed and bent over his mouth,
breathing
air into his lungs. I positioned my hands over his chest and
compressed.
One, two, three. I tried to count. At fifteen I moved back to his
mouth and breathed as deeply as I could. Where was help? Again I
compressed
and breathed. Compressed and breathed. He could not die!
"O God," I prayed. "His daughter is coming. Don't let it end
this
way."
The door burst open. Doctors and nurses poured into the room pushing
emergency equipment. A doctor took over the manual compression of the
heart.
A tube was inserted through his mouth as an airway. Nurses plunged
syringes
of medicine into the intravenous tubing.
I connected the heart monitor. Nothing. Not a beat. My own heart
pounded.
"God, don't let it end like this. Not in bitterness and hatred. His
daughter
is coming. Let her find peace."
"Stand back," cried a doctor. I handed him the paddles for the
electrical
shock to the heart. He placed them on Mr. William's chest. Over and
over
we tried. But nothing. No response. Mr. Williams was dead.
A nurse unplugged the oxygen. The gurgling stopped. One by one they
left, grim and silent.
How could this happen? How? I stood by his bed, stunned. A cold wind
rattled the window, pelting the panes with snow. Outside - everywhere -
it seemed a bed of blackness, cold and dark. How could I face his
daughter?
When I left the room, I saw her against the wall by the water fountain.
A doctor who had been inside 712 only moments before stood at her side,
talking to her, gripping her elbow. Then he moved on, leaving her
slumped
against the wall.
Such pathetic hurt reflected from her face. Such wounded eyes. She
knew.
The doctor had told her that her father was gone.
I took her hand and led her into the nurses' lounge. We sat on little
green stools, neither saying a word. She stared straight ahead at a
pharmaceutical
calendar, glass faced, almost breakable-looking.
"Janie, I'm so, so sorry," I said. It was pitifully inadequate.
"I never hated him, you know. I loved him," she said.
God please help her, I thought.
Suddenly she whirled toward me. "I want to see him."
My first thought was, Why put yourself through more pain? Seeing
him will only make it worse. But I got up and wrapped my arm around
her.
We walked slowly down the corridor to 712. Outside the door I squeezed
her hand, wishing she would change her mind about going inside.
She pushed open the door.
We moved to the bed, huddled together, taking small steps in unison.
Janie leaned over the bed and buried her face in the sheets.
I tried not to look at her ... at this sad, sad goodbye. I backed
against
the bedside table. My hand fell upon a scrap of yellow paper. I picked
it up. It read: My dear Janie, I forgive you. I pray you will also
forgive
me. I know that you love me. I love you too. Daddy.
The note was shaking in my hands as I thrust it toward Janie. She read
it once. Then twice. Her tormented face grew radiant. Peace began to
glisten
in her eyes. She hugged the scrap of paper to her breast.
"Thank You, God," I whispered, looking up at the window. A few
crystal stars blinked through the blackness. A snowflake hit the window
and melted away, gone forever...
I crept from the room and hurried to the phone. I would call my father.
I would say, "I love you." [Sue Kidd, as quoted in "Life on the Edge"
by
James Dobson]
What this father had in his last minutes of life, we need. He had
compassion
on his estranged daughter. That simple yellow note released her from
spending
the rest of her life tormented by regret.
WE ARE TO BE APPROACHABLE; WE ARE TO BE SPIRITUAL; WE ARE TO BE COMPASSIONATE; WE ARE TO GIVE UNCONDITIONAL LOVE; WE ARE TO FORGIVE
HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR CHILDREN TODAY? HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR SPOUSE TODAY? DO YOU NEED TO FORGIVE SOMEONE? DO YOU NEED TO BECOME MORE APPROACHABLE?
