In my study there hangs a reproduction of a sixteenth century map. My son gave it to me several years ago. He knows that I have always liked maps. I like to look at maps, study maps, even sketch maps myself. There is something fulfilling about seeing how things are laid out, how streets and buildings and hills and waterways relate to one another. I just find maps fascinating. I even at one time collected postage stamps that pictured maps. I have a collection of several hundred stamps from various countries, and all of them show maps of one kind or another. I am fascinated with maps.
And of course one reason for that fascination is that maps suggest exciting and interesting places that I have never seen. When I look at a map, I can at least imagine what it must be like in the streets of Paris or in the savannah of South Africa. By looking at the map, I can estimate how much time it might take to cross central Asia on the Trans-Siberian railway or how cold it might be at Little America in the Antarctic. I probably will never actually go to those places; but I am curious about them, and, with the help of a map, I can imagine what it would be like to go there.
All of us, I would guess, dream about distant countries. Those far-away places with the strange-sounding names. All of us dream about going somewhere distant, somewhere different. We dream about this not just because we would like to travel; we dream about it because we want a measure of excitement in our lives, we want to be something more than what we are now, and we suppose that out there, somewhere there is something more fulfilling than what we have here. We suppose that the distant country is a better country. You know the old saying that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence; well, I am saying that it is greener still on the other side of the world. Or at least I think it is!
The Keys family has suggested that I bring today’s message out of the wonderful Biblical story about a young man who sought a distant country. I am so pleased that, in the midst of your sorrow, you had the instinct – and I believe it was the prompting of God’s Holy Spirit – to ask for this. It is very seldom that anyone asks me to preach on a particular passage; but your hearts knew what you needed to focus on, and I am honored to respond.
You knew that your son, Michael, longed for a distant country. You knew that sometimes Michael would pursue things out of his reach and unlike what he knew at home. You were aware that in Michael’s life there were some issues about reaching for things that are a bit out there. And so you saw something in Jesus’ parable that would speak to you of Michael.
But I believe also that you saw in that same parable something that would speak to you of God, that would tell you again what God is prepared to for those who want the distant country and its pleasures. I believe that you saw that in the loving embrace of God there was more for Michael and more for you than living in a distant country. You saw that there was also the possibility of a better country. You saw a map there; a map that would, if used, lead us not just to a distant place but to a better place.
Let me invite us all this morning to trace with our fingers the map to the distant country and also – praise God – also the map to the better country.
Luke 15:11-24
I
In this wonderful parable that Jesus told – we know it as the parable of the prodigal son, but one theologian has said that it would be better to call it the parable of the waiting father – in this wonderful parable, there is a clear-cut road map to the distant country, where life, we think, will be more pleasant than it is here at home. The young man in Jesus’ story wanted something. It says that he wanted the money that he believed was his by rights. It says that he wanted to have a good time. It says that he wanted to gather friends and spend money and go somewhere and be somebody. I think it really says that he wanted to go and find himself. He wanted to find his own identity. He was tired of being somebody else’s son, living up to somebody else’s expectations, doing what somebody else wanted him to do. He went to a distant country to find himself.
Isn’t that what all of us do? Who of us has not gone through some sort of adolescent rebellion? Who of us does not chafe under the restrictions placed on us? Don’t tell me otherwise, now; I’ve heard lots of you talk about how strict your grandmother was and how demanding your teachers were and how proper you had to act in church! We’ve all gone through a time in our lives when we just wanted to be free of restraints and we just wanted to go out there and find something different and distant. What was that about? It was about finding ourselves. It was about testing the limits, probing the boundaries, and finding ourselves. Michael Keys did that. But so did I. And so do you. And so do we all. We read our life maps, looking for some distant country where we can find out who we really are.
II
But we are here today to witness to the fact that the distant country is not always the better country. The distant country is not always the better country. And we read the map again, to find our way to that better place.
The distant country is not always the better country. Sometimes it is a shock and a disappointment. Yesterday I visited with a young woman who has been attending our church. She just got here from Costa Rica. She said, “America is a shock. It is nothing like what I expected. People here are so different from what I thought they would be.” And that’s the way it is in distant countries. The young man in Jesus’ parable found that out. When he had spent his last nickel on wining and dining his so-called friends, they deserted him. The distant country is not always the better country. When he had to earn a living, he couldn’t find anything that had dignity and fulfillment in it – just feeding swine. The distant country is not always the better country.
But, friends, that is when he found himself. Did you hear the text? It says about this young man, “When he came to himself”. “When he came to himself” – when he woke up and figured out who he really was – then he began to read the map again and found that better country. And that better country – believe it or not – was home. Right back at home.
Michael Keys lived at home, with his parents. It was not just about convenience or comfort or cost. It was about reading the map for that better country. For what did the young man in Jesus’ parable find, when he set his weary feet on the path that led home?
Oh, don’t miss it. He found welcome. He found grace. He found forgiveness. He found understanding and compassion. I cannot improve on the text of Scripture itself. When his father saw him, he was moved with compassion and ran – hurried, rushed out – to greet his son and welcome him home. Charles and Lucille, you can take comfort in knowing that you offered Michael the grace of a caring home. You welcomed him from whatever distant countries he may have explored, and you gave him home. You gave him a better place. Feel the Lord’s blessing on you for that; hear the Lord’s “well done”. You gave Michael his home.
III
But there is more than the Father’s compassion at work in this story. The story tells us too that the waiting Father hurried out to greet his son and embraced him and then called for a celebration, for his son had come home. The distant country was not the better country; home was the better country.
Today the Father of all has said to Michael, “Come home”. “Come home, ye who are weary, come home. Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, come home.”
Today the Father, like the father in the story, is filled with compassion. He understands. He understands that his children sometimes wander, sometimes want, and sometimes are willful. Again I say, I am not speaking just about Michael. I am speaking about all of us, without exception. The hymn writer says it for us, “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.” But the Father knows our hearts, understands what is driving us, and is willing to wait for us, waiting with compassion. He cares about Michael; and He cares about you and me.
Today the Father, like the father in the story, is ready to embrace with grace. He is always coming toward us, hurrying to meet us when we show the slightest evidence that we are moving toward Him. The Father heard Michael’s heart that day in 1976, when, as a young boy, he entered the waters of baptism in this church and committed himself to Christ. The Father knew Michael as His child, and when a child comes home, you embrace that child with grace. The Father does just that.
Today the Father, like the father in the story, is ready to put a robe on Michael, and rings on his fingers and sandals on his feet, and is calling us to a celebration. “This my son has come home.” He has read the road map, with all of its twists and turns, and has found his way home again. Oh, let us lay aside our questions; let us calm our doubts; let us find comfort for our fears. And let us trust God that at last He has taken Michael not just to a distant country, but to a better country.
For the Scripture says, with extraordinary eloquence, “They desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.”
Michael Keys has gone home, to a better country. Are you wandering, out there somewhere, trying to find yourself in some distant place? Are you lost and lonely and wishing you had not gone where you have gone? It is never too late to come home, never too late to feel the Father’s compassion, never too late to permit His embrace. Never too late to celebrate not a distant country, but a better country, the home prepared for you.
