The Way for Us to Get Along

Sometimes I wish I didn’t know the right thing to do. Even just typing that, it sounds crazy, but it’s true. Let me explain. Sometimes, you know the right thing to do and you know it is going to be hard or you know some folks aren’t going to understand. Other times, you know the right thing to do, but the wrong thing just seems to be so much easier, or more fun. Somehow, it seems that it would almost be better not to know the right thing. At least then you would have an excuse.

Too many times, I wish I didn’t know the right thing to do.

And sometimes, I just wish people around me would listen to me when I know the right thing for them to do. And when they don’t and it ends up badly, sometimes I wish I had the class not to say I told you so. Sometime I do, sometimes I don’t. You know, like those times when you tell your kids not to stand up on that thing, because it wont hold them. But they stand on it anyway and fall and get a bump and cry. And as much as you want to hold them and comfort them, you just feel this parental responsibility to make them understand that you actually knew better and that next time, if they listened to you, life would go so much better.

I get like that with adults I know, too. I see what is going to happen if they don’t take my advice, and when they don’t and it happens, I wish I was better at fighting off that parental urge, then, too. That would be my right thing to do.

And I do it even to myself. Don’t even go there, I say. Don’t even start thinking that way. But then, when I am sitting in a pile of broken glass with a baseball bat in my hand, my ball in the neighbor’s living room (or the grown up version of the same basic thing) I can hear myself saying, I told you so. I even parent myself, sometimes.

When I look for reprieve, I remember Paul said,

What I don't understand about myself is that I decide one way, but then I act another, doing things I absolutely despise. – Romans 7:15

He was making a different kind of point, but nonetheless, even Paul fell short at times. Small comfort, though, when the dad voice inside my head -- knowing full well what I was thinking says, “What could you possibly have been thinking?”

Of course the only proper answer to that question is “Uh, I dunno.”

Do you ever put that dad voice in God’s mouth? I do that, too. I think it is an age old tendency. I think from the beginning of God’s revelation of Himself to man, man has superimposed far too many earthly father traits onto the Heavenly Father. Even Jesus must have thought it too prevalent to not address it.

Remember the story of the prodigal son? The whole story is in Luke 15:11-31, but the gist is that the young son took his inheritance early and squandered it. Starving and destitute, he came crawling back to the father with his tail between his legs, planning to beg for a morsel of mercy. The father who had been daily looking in hope that his lost son would return, instead ran out to hug him and love him and rather than a crumb, showered his son with buckets of grace.

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.” Luke 15:20

"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.’” Luke 15:22

The son had come home, expecting to beg to be taken in as a lowly servant. The father, though, at the instant of his son’s return restored him to his old role in the family, complete with the family ring, the best robe and a feast of celebration that his lost son had come back to be part of the family.

I think that story was preserved for a good reason. First, Jesus, Son of God, wanted to let us know that God the Father isn't looking for a chance to say, “I told you so.” He isn’t looking to scold and to deride us into a more dutiful son role. God is instead daily searching across the fields looking for His lost children to come home to receive His love and to be restored to His family in full stead.

And there is another reason, too, I believe, though it isn’t in the gospel. Actually that reason came out of a Rolling Stone cover of an old blues tune, Prodigal Son, that has been running through my head tonite. In that song, the same story is told, but the last line says it all. After recounting the need to celebrate the brother’s turning back from his life of sin, the father’s last line is a stunning explanation for his unlimited grace:
"Cause that’s the way for us to get along."

I guess in the end, grace, like all of God’s gifts is given in part that we might share it with each other.

I pray that the next time I have every right to tell someone, "I told you so.", that instead I remember that song and instead give my brother (or sister) my best robe and the family ring.

Because that definitely is a better way for us to get along.