Bryan Sherwood

The Prodigal Son, His Story and Ours

As I’ve been reading The Return of the Prodigal, I’ve wondered how I would have responded in each of those roles. Take the Prodigal son, for an example.  Here’s the younger son who has been raised by the Father who grows up and decides that the Father’s way isn’t the best way.  As a matter of fact, he asks for his share of his father’s estate.  In that culture, according to Nouwen, that would be the same as basically wishing the father was dead.  He wanted his part of the estate now so he could go and live in “freedom.”  The Prodigal wanted to do as he pleased, when he pleased and how he pleased.  We all know what it’s like to be the prodigal, don’t we?  Instead of being with the Father, we decide we’re going to a “distant country” and live our lives as we see fit.

It’s obvious in Rembrandt’s painting, that this life that the Prodigal chose for himself was difficult.  Look at his tattered clothes.  No cloak, just the bare necessities.  His shaven head intimates that he may have been enslaved.  And his feet, look at his feet—weary, barefoot, worn.  He’s missing one sandal and the other is literally falling to pieces.  It’s been a long journey, one we can assume was full of trouble and hardship. 

Eventually, the Prodigal came to his senses and realized that his way lead to death, not life.  Rembrandt’s painting shows him on his knees with his face buried in his father’s chest.  It’s a quiet moment, filled with light and forgiveness.  It’s a wonderful depiction of how our Father loves us as his Beloved--always there, always welcoming, always loving.

I think one of the most amazing parts of this story is that the Prodigal never forgot where home was and he never forgot who he was.  He was and continues to be his Father’s Beloved son.  The Father never stopped loving him even when he turned his back on his Father.  That very idea . . . that my Father loves me is one of the hardest things to understand.  He loves me.  He wants to spend time with me.  He seeks after me.  We learn that truth early on if we’ve grown up in Christianity but it continues to be a truth that is difficult for me to fully embrace. 

The Father’s love for me is one of the lessons I’m learning this Lent.  As I follow Jesus to the Cross and am confronted with my own sin, I am filled with gratefulness because the Father still loves me as his Beloved son.

Peace.

The Intimacy of the Table

The Priory met at our home today. That means Heather and I cooked food, the rest of the group brought more food and we spent a good amount of time at the table, sharing life with each other. Not real complicated, huh? Oh, and we prayed the morning office together too. There was even a little chanting that went on. All in all, a very good time.

Last week, in one of Henri Nouwen's Daily Meditations, I read this:

The table is one of the most intimate places in our lives. It is there that we give ourselves to one another. When we say, "Take some more, let me serve you another plate, let me pour you another glass, don't be shy, enjoy it," we say a lot more than our words express. We invite our friends to become part of our lives. We want them to be nurtured by the same food and drink that nurture us. We desire communion. That is why a refusal to eat and drink what a host offers is so offensive. It feels like a rejection of an invitation to intimacy.

Strange as it may sound, the table is the place where we want to become food for one another. Every breakfast, lunch, or dinner can become a time of growing communion with one another.

Very true, I think. It takes work and time to give ourselves to one another. In the end, it's worth it. Peace.

My Birthday and A Few Thoughts on the Prodigal Son

It’s Wednesday and it just happens to be my birthday.  Yes, I am 36 today.  It’s snowing and I’m at work.  Something about all of that just doesn’t seem right.  At least I get to watch it snow from my cubicle.

I wish I could say things are great with me today but they don’t feel all that great. The last year has been pretty hard and it’s not getting much easier.

As you know, I’ve been reading Nouwen’s book entitled The Return of the Prodigal Son.  The one thing that stands out to me about Rembrandt’s painting is the warm embrace between the Father and the son.  You can look at the prodigal and know that he’s had a tough time away from home.  It’s been a long journey.  His clothes are tattered.  His feet are calloused.  Yet, the Father gently and quietly embraces his son.  You see, the son remains the Beloved no matter his past, no matter his struggles.  What a beautiful picture of God, our Father and his continual, eternal love for us.  That means more to me today than anything else.

Peace.

Lent and The Return of the Prodigal Son

What am I reading these days? A friend recommended Henri Nouwen's book entitled The Return of the Prodigal Son and I've really enjoyed reading it so far. I've decided that Henri and I are walking through Lent together. I think we share some common struggles and so, as I follow Jesus during this Lenten season to the Cross, I'm thinking about the characters in the story of the prodigal son (Luke 15).

Rembrandt painted The Return of the Prodigal Son close to his own death and is believed to likely be one of his last works. Rembrandt, despite his own personal struggles, is able to create a painting that is full of light, forgiveness, humility, and hope.

Let me share a quite from Henri as he describes what this painting came to mean to him over time.

The more I spoke of the Prodigal Son, the more I came to see it as, somehow, my personal painting, the painting that contained not only the heart of the story that God wants to tell me, but also the heart of the story that I want to tell to God and God's people. All of the Gospel is there. All of my life is there. All of the lives of my friends is there. The painting has become a mysterious window through which I can step into the Kingdom of God. It is like a huge gate that allows me to move to the other side of existence and look from there back into the odd assortment of people and events that make up my daily life. (p. 16, The Return of the Prodigal).

So, for the next several weeks, I hope to spend a good amount of time reflecting on this parable and Rembrandt's painting. I believe there may be a lot for me to learn about God and about me. This is a powerful story about a loving father who embraces his long lost son. It's about forgiveness. It's about home. So, pull up a chair next to mine and let's meditate on The Return of the Prodigal Son.

Peace.

A Typical Day at Work

The one subject that Dr. Palmer and I have talked the most about is work and my experience of it. To be honest, I don't think hardly anyone really understands what my work experience is like. It's difficult for me to get up and report to work each day. It's not that "I'd rather stay home and be lazy today" feeling but the "I'm not sure I can make it through another day at work" feeling. For me, work is full, brimming over with anxiety and often times, depression.

I spend most days dealing with anxiety that washes over me in waves. It feels much like I'd imagine it feels like to drown. I realize that various things trigger it. You see, my emotional "radar" picks up on every sound of frustration and anger from my co-workers. If someone I work with is angry, no one has to tell me. I know it already. I knew it when they walked in the room. Somehow I know that all of this anger is going to be aimed at me. It's going to be my fault. Of course, some days aren't so bad but other days are terrible. Many days are so painful I have to grit my teeth and go into survival mode. I turn on Bach. I look at some art at my desk (icons, photos of Gethsemani, etc.) I hold my rosary. I utter a short prayer over and over. (O God come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me). I do whatever I can to calm myself enough to help me survive the rest of the work day. Yet, in the midst of this, my work has to be completed. The phone rings. Email arrives in my inbox. Business trips must be coordinated. Someone stops by my desk looking for help. I smile and appear calm while my insides feel like they're being torn apart. All I want to do is leave work and get under the covers at home. The worst part is feeling helpless to change any of this. I can't just leave work. I have bills to pay. People count on me. I can't tell my boss "Oh, and by the way, I feel anxious today and need to go home."

I wonder if these feelings will change? I am hopeful they will. I know I've gradually improved since I started seeing Dr. Palmer last January. He has taught me some coping mechanisms which have helped. Yet, the truth is, even on the best day, it's still exhausting. I arrive early to work and almost always leave promptly at 5 p.m. Some probably think I have other obligations to attend to but in reality, I'm so exhausted by then, I can't stand one more moment in that place. Right now, I live for evenings and weekends.

I find great comfort in these words written by Fr. Henri Nouwen who knows what it's like to struggle with depression and anxiety.

Our emotional lives move up and down constantly. Sometimes we experience great mood: swings from excitement to depression, from joy to sorrow, from inner harmony to inner chaos. A little event, a word from someone, a disappointment in work, many things can trigger such mood swings. Mostly we have little control over these changes. It seems that they happen to us rather than being created by us.

Thus it is important to know that our emotional life is not the same as our spiritual life. Our spiritual life is the life of the Spirit of God within us. As we feel our emotions shift we must connect our spirits with the Spirit of God and remind ourselves that what we feel is not who we are. We are and remain, whatever our moods, God's beloved children. (HT: Susie)