In
the parable of the river, there are five brothers who live with their father in
a mountain castle. The father warns his
sons about the dangers of a nearby river, but, as expected, only the oldest one
heeds the warning. Hey, I totally get
this guy. Typical first born. We know the rules, folks, and by golly we
follow them.
Of
course, the other four brothers aren’t such people pleasers. They just have to check that river out. Sure enough, the river sweeps them all away and
they end up miles downstream, far from the mountain castle they called home, and from
their loving father.
The
first brother isn’t too concerned with the migration his disobedience has forced upon him. In fact, he decides to indulge
himself and make friends with the natives in this new land. They are sinful people, and he joins right in
and settles down with them, laying roots in a place he never should have
been.
Ever
done that? Washed yourself free of
goodness to exist among a crowd?
I’m
a first-born, a rule follower, a people pleaser. Still, I can’t say ‘no’. I’ve been swept away plenty of times. I’ve been swept away by guilt and envy and
gluttony and greed and the list goes on and on my friends. That raging river is a constant in my life,
tugging me from the shores of truth into a roaring flood, where the dark swirls
all around me and I can’t find the surface to catch my breath. I’m drowning in that river of worldly
desires. Every day, it threatens to pull
me under.
The
second brother watches his sinful sibling from afar, noticing every misstep, keeping track of all the things
he’s doing wrong while priding himself for staying away from the potential pitfalls of their
new surroundings.
Been
there? Pointed fingers without ever pausing
to glance in the mirror?
Once
again, my answer isn’t the one I’d like it to be. I’ve observed from a distance more times than
I can count, smiling and nodding and comparing while refusing to engage in
what I believe to be someone else’s poor choices. I’ve stood back,
silently watching another stumble as I counted myself more faithful, more loving, more loyal .
. . better. Better because I wasn’t speaking aloud what
my head was thinking? Better because my
hands refused to act on the stirrings of my heart? Better because I thought I belonged in the
judge’s seat, when the truth is, we’re all on trial with the only Judge, and we’re all
acquitted if we simply choose to stop issuing our own verdicts and listen
to His decree instead. I’ve held gavels when I should have been
holding hands.The third brother wants to go home. He feels badly for ignoring his father’s warnings about the river, and begins laying rocks to make a path back to the mountain castle. He labors and toils, exerting all his energy into advancing, moving forward, making progress. He doesn’t let up, hauling his load and pushing himself to perform and working and working and working to reach his goal.
Ever
do such a thing? Going and doing
and giving all for a gift that doesn’t require anything but one small step of
faith?
I
am trying to earn God’s grace. I am
trying to buy it with my words and pay for it with my actions and deserve it with
my life. And it’s free. He never
meant for redemption to have anything to do with me. It’s always been about Him. He came to the earth as a baby to find
me. He shared the truth to show me. And he gave up his life to free me. I can lay rocks all day long every day of my
life, but they will never get me where I want to go. My
sweat and tears and efforts warrant nothing but exhaustion. They won’t ever make me worthy. They won’t ever win me merit. Salvation is a gift. It is the single greatest gift ever
given. And all I have to do to receive
it . . . is
receive Him.The fourth brother does nothing. He sits by the fire alone . . . waiting . . . certain his father will come for him despite the fact that he disobeyed. Soon, the oldest brother arrives instead, embracing his younger sibling.
“I
have come to take you home.”
The
first-born son, there on behalf of the father, proposing forgiveness of sin,
offering himself as the single solution.
And the brother by the fire does the only thing necessary to get back
to his loving father . . . he allows the first-born son to carry him there.
Lord, how I want to be like that last brother, the one who sits patiently by the fire of
your glory, filled with the warmth of faith in your goodness, certain that the one
who says, “Follow me”, is the only one I need to hear. I want to stop embracing sin and criticizing others and striving for salvation, and instead, I want to crawl into your arms . . . and lean my head on your shoulder . . . and fold myself into your boundless peace. For only then will I find the grace I seek. Only then will I find my way home.
