A CROSS WITH A VIEW

Luke 15:1-3,11b-32
2 Corinthians 5:16-21

When staying at a hotel in a scenic destination, everyone wants the coveted "room with a view."  The one people will pay extra for just so they can open the curtains each morning and look out and see the sun sparkling on a tropical sea or a pristine spring-fed lake surrounded by majestic mountains.  They want to sip their morning coffee while gazing at the historic old buildings of a European city or the narrow streets of a quaint, old village.  Sounds wonderful, doesn't it?  

But the one we should pray for is priceless; it cost us nothing, but Jesus paid for it with his life. It's a cross with a view.

Stories are powerful. They can heal broken lives and grieving hearts. A story, like a parable, can give us hope, inspire us to action or convict our souls. They can change how we look at things and give us a new perspective, a different view of the world. That's why Jesus told them.

There was a man who had two sons.  Each son was lost in his own way, and the man's heart grieved for them both.  The younger son, tired of trying to follow all the rules and meet the expectations his family had of him, demanded his share of the family estate and hit the road for fast living, debauchery, and well, you get the picture.

The elder son, dutifully remained on the family farm, probably not out of love for the land or this family but for the reward of the lion's share of his father's estate.  In him, his father saw a heart hardened by bitterness, jealousy, greed and entitlement.  This son broke his father's heart just as surely as the younger son's rejection did.

As Jesus told that story, he gazed into the eyes and the hearts of the Pharisees and the Scribes, who were like the older brother.  Their hearts were hardened against him and against God by pride and entitlement.  The had been so busy making sure they and everyone else followed the letter of the law that they had forgotten that God's law is all about love, and that included loving the tax collectors and sinners they scorned who were there also that day.  Did they realize they were the “older brother?” Did the parable confronted the darkness of their hearts, and it made them angry, frightened that the inheritance as "God's chosen people" was threatened? 

In the crowd that day, were those whom the Scribes and the Pharisees and the religious system had closed their hearts and their doors to. They knew who they were. Society had branded them as prodigal sons and daughters.they were prodigal sons and daughters. What they heard was what their very souls were yearning for was possible, that God was ready to welcome them into a personal relationship with Him with a big hug full of forgiveness and unconditional love.

I wonder if there were also those in the crowd who related to the grieving father?  The parable Jesus told confirmed their faith in God and renewed their hope that,  through the action of God's love, their own prodigal son or daughter, and yes, maybe this prodigal world would return home to welcoming arms.

The crowd that gathered at the cross on the day Jesus died, looked very much like the crowd he spoke to the day he told the parable of the prodigal son and his older brother. There were sinners and the rejected, the judgemental and close minded and the hopeful faithful, and more.

Christ's view from the cross extended far beyond that day. From there, he could see generations who stretched from one end of time to the other. There were the good and the bad, the saints and the sinners, the ugly and the beautiful, the ordinary and the extraordinary folks. You and I were there, too.

The one thing we have in common with all those people is this: God so loves us all that he offered up his one of a kind, unique son, as a sacrifice to atone for our sins.  He did that, so that who ever faithfully responds to God's love and believes in Christ will be welcomed back home with joy and open arms that envelop us in a hug of God's love.

If we take in the view from the cross and its context of unconditional, self-sacrificing, tenacious and steadfast love, we will be surprised and transformed by what we see.  I know I was.

When my husband and I first moved to Cedar Rapids, I visited several United Methodist churches.  One in particular stands out to me, because God touched my heart in a very real way that day.  It was a small, new start church on the south side of Cedar Rapids.  The service was informal, the worship area open and simple with folding chairs.

Some people were dressed in what I would call "casual Sunday," but a lot of people were in blue jeans, some torn and faded, and t-shirts.  I saw "do-rags," piercings and tattoos.  With the smugness and self-righteousness of a pharisee, I thought, "These people don't belong here.  They don't even know how to behave in church!"

And then God spoke to my heart, "These people are what my church is about.” I had forgotten that God loved these people as much as he loved me; Christ died for them, too.

In this season of Lent, we are reminded that, deserving or not, Christ died for us all.  He died for those who have rejected him, for who in their sense of entitlement have forgotten that it's all about love.  He gave his life for those who yearn for God, but find doors closed to them, and for the hopeful who find their faith confirmed and work with Christ for the day when the prodigals of this world come home.

Lent also challenges us to take in the view from the cross. Will we take up that challenge to see others as God sees them and to love and to serve them as Christ has loved and served us?