“And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Quickly bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him, and give him a ring for his finger, and sandals for his feet.”—Luke 15:21-22, Mounce InterlinearAll week long, my bible app’s verse of the day seemed to be stuck on this: “You are the light of Christ to the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden; Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good deeds and moral excellence, and recognize and honor and glorify your Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:14,16, Amplified) Maybe there was a glitch in the app, maybe my cell reception was bad—who knows? But when something that looks like a coincidence is maybe not, I’m learning it’s best not to ignore it. And so it became a daily whispered prayer for wherever I went—to carry the light into every room and situation and store and to look for Jesus in everyday faces and places.
Even at my 50th high school class reunion.
I honestly don’t know how well I carried His light into that room last night, but it and He surely felt everywhere. And why not? Jesus, the gospels tell us, liked parties and wedding receptions but most of all, He liked hanging out with people and being where people were at in their lives. He didn’t always hang out with “church people,” except maybe His disciples, but walked through the most unlikeliest of villages and neighborhoods and had dinner in the most unlikeliest of homes. In the world but not of it. Follow Me. And man, was He speaking!
It began with John Travolta.
I got roped into being part of a line dance for the theme song of Travolta’s famous 1970s movie, “Saturday Night Fever.” All these years later, I remembered being part of those line dances at college, mainly because I ain’t got feet rhythm and I actually “got” this one. But when the instructions were reviewed with us last night, though vaguely familiar, it all felt like a foreign language and cows walking on ice. Missteps. Tripping up. Going the wrong way. Going nowhere, or so it seemed. The DJ, however, was very patient and kept encouraging us, repeating the same steps over and over, slower and then faster, until we “got it.” (Well, almost anyway.)
Can’t really explain this but in the midst of the embarrassingly funny exhibition in front of old classmates, I was reminded by the Man who had walked into the room that this is what this Walk is like, too. There will be missteps, and tripping up, and going the wrong way, and seemingly going nowhere, but keep persevering. Your Leader is patient with you. Practice the Word, step by step, day by day, knowing that repetition builds strength and confidence so that the steps eventually become a natural reflex. You begin to “get it.” Hallelujah! (And while you’re at it, stop being so serious about everything and enjoy the moment.)
Enjoy the life and breath He has given…and never forget to be grateful. That was another thing the Man who had walked into the room seemed to be reminding me through the names and faces and voices of classmates I could barely remember. Over and over, I kept hearing the same thing: through all their hardships and disappointments and losses...
“I’m grateful. Every day is precious.” Bark less, wag more. Amen, and amen (and never forget it).
And then a friend from the basketball team at my table stunned me with a heartfelt toast for being thankful for all we’ve been through in our lives and for “what really matters,” and for one another’s enduring friendship even if we have not seen one another in years. It was hardly a churchy blessing but it was almost better—it pierced my heart in a wonderfully strange way because the words were dripping with the warmth and sincerity of the exhortations found in Paul’s letters to the churches to be continually thankful for each day and each breath, and to love one another and encourage one another through thick and thin. And the Man who had walked into the room of the class reunion seemed to say, “make a note of that.”
And another thing: “Pretty cool how after all these years you still remember all the lyrics to ‘Brandy, you’re a fine girl’ and ‘Bye, bye Miss American Pie.’ Now, remember that the next time you think ‘I can’t memorize scripture.’” Zing.
Zing…Bling. The Man who had walked into the room also followed me home (thank, God) when I pulled out my class ring from 1972 to admire it. Doesn’t fit now but I remember wearing it proudly on my right hand (except for that season when my girlfriend proudly wore it around her neck during my freshman year at college)—a thing of achievement, of belonging, a statement, a remembrance of where I started and how far I had come. A little chipped, a little dinged, but still beautiful.
And as I dozed off to sleep, I remembered another ring—the one the joyful father gave to his prodigal son in one of the greatest reunion stories ever told. (Luke 15:11-32) That ring could have symbolized a lot of things but it was definitely making its own statement loud and clear. As one bible scholar explains: “When the father places the ring on the hand of his son, he not only welcomes him back home as a son, as was indicated by the robe, but he welcomes him back to responsibility and authority. The young man is not to sit on the bench; he is to play on the team!…when any person comes back to God, He invites us to be partners together with Him in the work of His Kingdom.”
And the Man who had walked into the room at our 50th high school class reunion and followed me home last night seemed to smile as I admired that ring:
“Age is just a number. C’mon, let’s keep going. Remember, John Travolta.”
