I Am the Prodigal Son

May 19, 2010

Hi all. I recently dug up this article I once wrote for a church newsletter. Although I wrote it several years ago, I think it’s still pertinent, so I thought I’d share it. As always, thanks for reading!

Rembrandt's "Return of the Prodigal Son"

While Jesus was having dinner at Levi’s house, many tax collectors and “sinners” were eating with him and his disciples, for there were many who followed him. When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the “sinners” and tax collectors, they asked his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and ‘sinners’?”

On hearing this, Jesus said to them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” Mark 2:15-17, NIV

I’ve always been a good person – a rule follower, and like the Pharisees, I struggle with arrogance and hypocrisy and with thinking I can do it on my own. So I must admit that it’s easier for me to identify with the Pharisees in this story than with the tax collectors and “sinners.” For that reason, Jesus’ statement here always used to bother me. It seemed to me that Jesus was telling the Pharisees, “Back off! I’m here for these people you call ‘sinners;’ I’m not here for you.” As someone who identified with the Pharisees, I found this disturbing.

It was an encounter with another gospel story that helped me come to grips with what Jesus was saying here. One Monday morning during my junior year of college, my creative writing professor decided to open class with a story. From her King James Bible, she read us the parable of the prodigal son, and she told us, “I’ve always identified with the older brother in this story, but I recently realized something that I’d always known but never really assented to; I realized I am the prodigal son.”

“I am the prodigal son.” I too have known this all my life, but just as I had always identified with the Pharisees, I had also seen myself in the role of the obedient, yet unhappy older brother in the story of the prodigal son. But the truth is, as a sinner saved by grace, I am the prodigal son. I am the one who has been forgiven much. I was dead in my sin until Christ saved me.

Only when we realize the depth of our need and the extent of our own sinfulness are we able to experience the joy that comes from grace. When Jesus told the Pharisees that he had “not come to call the righteous, but sinners,” he was not telling the Pharisees that they were excluded from salvation; he was challenging them to recognize their own sinfulness in order that they too could be saved. Jesus is a friend of sinners, and that includes not only those who are guilty of murder and adultery, but also those who are guilty of hypocrisy, arrogance, and cowardice. The Pharisees’ problem was not that their sins were the wrong kind of sins for Jesus to forgive; their problem was that they never sought forgiveness.

It is a humbling experience to discover our true role in the story of salvation. We were dead in our sin, and because of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, we have been given life. Even those of us who are like the Pharisees or the prodigal son’s older brother – rule-following church-goers, not outwardly rebellious – are sinners saved only by grace. God’s grace is the one thing that can transform people who are spiritually dead into living heirs of God.

The good news is this: Christ died to save sinners, and as fallen human beings, you and I fit that category perfectly. Your sin is neither too great nor too small to be forgiven. So, whether you are a Pharisee or a “sinner,” if you humbly confess your sins to Christ, you can take joy in the knowledge that you are forgiven much.


A Poem for Today

March 1, 2010

Mosaic Poem

All my great attempts

Are failures and false starts,

But you’re slowly rearranging

The fragments of my heart:

Shards of color in the Great Wall

Of things that have fallen apart.

I wanted to be an artist;

You made me a work of art.

© Elise Morrison Siegel 2010


I know I’m not a hopeless case

August 22, 2009

My 5-year-old friend Caleb loves the song “Beautiful Day” by U2. He goes around singing like a rock star, “It’s a beautiful day – skafuldjifeelak! It’s a beautiful day!”  

The first time I heard him, I laughed, “I’m never quite sure what Bono is saying right there either.”  

Caleb gave me a patronizing look and replied slowly and clearly, “He says, ‘It’s a beautiful day, ska-ful-dji-fee-lak.’”  

I can’t argue with you, Caleb.

Later I went home and looked in the CD liner. Turns out the lyrics are, “It’s a beautiful day, the sky falls and you feel like it’s a beautiful day.” So, pretty close.

I love the song too: it’s a true rock song. I have it on CD, but I especially love it when I hear it on the radio. The heartbeat pulse at the beginning always makes my own heart leap with hope. But for me the best part of the song is the line, “I know I’m not a hopeless case.” I need that affirmation. I need to believe that I can change, that God will complete the good work he’s started in me.

Once, when struggling to find hope for myself, I wrote this chorus:                 

               You fear that you’ll only repeat the same scene,

               Or roll like a stone to the doom that you dread –               

               The future you see when you look straight ahead.

               But you don’t have to be what you always have been.

This is essential to what I believe: I am not a hopeless case. Neither are you.

********

In the interest of sharing the hope, here is U2 performing “Beautiful Day.” Enjoy!

By the way, if you’re not sure you like U2 – if they’re too epic/mainstream/popular for you – I’d recommend watching one of their concerts on DVD, because they just might change your mind. They are at their best live.


Manna

July 26, 2009

This is an old poem, but I don’t think I ever shared it with anyone. It came to mind tonight, and it fits with thoughts that have been running through my head lately, so I thought I’d share it now.

 

Manna

This morning I awoke to manna – sweet desert snow

 that melted on my tongue into honeyed rain

 as it did long ago,

 when I first tasted it.

 As if it were a distant memory, I recalled the right question:

 - not, “Will it ever come again?”

 but a joyful, wondering, “What is it?”

 You may have heard

 that hoarded manna goes sour,

turns foul with worms.

But that is not the worst of it.

Worse is the hour consumed by worries of the next hour -

The fear that urged me, “Take for tomorrow,” 

dulled the sweetness of the bread on my tongue,

 dulled my mind to the mysterious miracle.

 Tomorrow never comes, only today.

 Joy knows only eternity and the present moment.

 

© Elise Morrison Siegel


Creativity and the Fourth of July

July 4, 2009

I wrote this poem last summer after spending the Fourth of July with friends at Lake Stevens. It is dedicated to those of you who were there, sharing your creativity through music, dance, and fire poi. You reminded me that art is meant to be shared. You were joyful and spontaneous; you were living in the moment; you were so beautiful. Thanks for being who you are. This poem is my response.

July 4th, 2008 - On Lake Stevens 

 

The dancers dance on the dock

On the lake

As the drum beats in the dark

And musicians playFireworks

On the deck

Of the house by the lake

 

A fire burns on the sand

By the lake

And fire flies from the hands

Of dancers on the dock,

Whirling in time

To the music from the deck.

 

Dark boats stop

On the lake in the dark

To watch the dancer on the dock

Fling fire from her hands.

 

The dancers dance in the sand

And musicians play on the deck

And drummers drum on the dock,

As fire flares in the sky

And cracks above the dark lake.

 

© Elise Morrison Siegel 2009


The Starfish

June 5, 2009

IMG_1008

In the middle ages of the night

When dark waves break on the shore of the sea,

The moon hangs low and the stars hang high,

Clinging tight to the roof of the sky,

And the starfish cling to the floor of the sea.

 

The starfish don’t have starfish nations;

They live in starfish constellations

And laugh at human obligations,

But their laughter is drowned by the roar of the sea.

 

© Elise Morrison Siegel 2009


A Beginning

May 13, 2009

Here is a poem I wrote a couple months back. It’s about love and it rhymes.

 

Love Poem – Lent 2009

 

You gave me three red roses

I don’t know what they’re for

‘Cause I’m as common as they come

But your love says I am more.

 

I keep a book of measurements

You disregard the score,

The reports, reviews, and ratings

Your love says I am more.

 

When you asked me to come with you

I almost shut the door

And said, “I’m suited for stability.”

Your love said, “You are more.”

 

I’m timid but I’m coming

Though I don’t know what’s in store

Because I’m brave when I’m beside you

And your love says I am more.

 

© Elise Morrison Siegel 2009


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.