Michael Hidalgo - Unlost: Being Found by the One We Are Looking for

Being a pastor is Gods way of redeeming my incessant need to be the center of attention.

I found myself saying that to a seminary student over lunch a few weeks ago. He was grilling me with questions about what it is like to be a pastor: How did God place a call on your life to serve in the local church? What is your daily routine? How do you intentionally model a Christian life for your congregation? What are the five best practices for preparing a sermon? How do you create space for your family amidst such a demanding job?

With each question he asked I thought, I could, well,... lie. I could talk about how I wake up while it is still dark to spend hours in prayer. Or how I intentionally put my life on display because it is a shining example of what it means to passionately follow Jesus. Or I could speak toward my mastery of crafting a sermon. Or I could carefully explain the many ways I constantly and endlessly pursue being a wonderful husband and father. While it seemed that those were the kind of answers he wanted, I chose to be truthful about who I am. But the more honest I was, the more disappointed he was. With each response he realized that I am not a pastor who has all the answers to lifes difficult questions, nor am I the perfect model of godliness he thought me to be. I am only a guy who experiences sin and grace every day.

There are many moments like this when I want to impress others rather than be honest. In those times, I am tempted to wander away from the love of God that does not need me to impress. And my wandering away is not just an everyday experience but it is the story of my life. Jesus told a story about a son who was a lot like this. Many call it The Parable of the Prodigal Son.

As the well-known story goes, a son took his inheritance from his father, wandered off into a far country and spent all he had. After spending all his money, he hit bottom and got the only job available to him: feeding pigs. He was so hungry that the slop he fed the pigs looked appetizing.

It was then that he finally came to his senses, and realized his fathers hired men lived better than he did. So he set off for home to apologize to his father and to ask to be hired as a worker. His plan never worked out.

When he was still a long way from home, his father saw him and his heart was stirred with grace, mercy and compassion. He took off running for his son, and when he got to him, he threw his arms around him, hugged him and kissed him.

In the midst of this, the son tried to apologize to his father, but he did not listen. His father interrupted and yelled to his servants. My son is back! My son is back! He was dead and is alive again! He was lost and now is found! Lets party! Hes alive!

This picture of the loving father overwhelms me, which is why I often dwell on this story. In the corner of my office, between my bookshelf and a window, hangs a lithograph of Rembrandts painting The Return of the Prodigal Son . I spend a lot of time staring at this painting. It reminds me that the picture Jesus created of a loving father is a true reflection of God, because at times, I still struggle to believe that.

The God I experienced most of my life was not like the father in Jesus story. The father in my story stood at the door with an angry look as I approached with my head hanging low. He did not invite me in but kept me standing on the front step as he asked all sorts of questions about where I had been and what I had done. As I tried to explain what had happened, answer all the questions and say that I was sorry for what I had done, he crossed his arms tightly, sighed in disappointment and tapped his foot impatiently.

My picture of the father was created by years of seeing the way many in the church treated people who were like the prodigal sonpeople like me. Rather than forgive and welcome those who turned toward home, they punished and condemned them. These Christians frequently shot their wounded.

I grew up in a Christianized world. I always attended Christian schools, and after high school, I even went to a Bible school for a year before eventually going to a Christian college. All the while, I was never interested in what others thought I should do and not do. I never really saw myself as a bad kid, mind you. I was just a guy who enjoyed partying and all the things that came with that.

However, in my Christianized world, my way of life was considered horribly sinful. Many frequently let me know their opinion of my behavioreven if I didnt ask. I heard the judgmental way some spoke about my group of friends and me. Looking back it seems that the most judgmental people had never experienced the fathers love for themselves, and since they had never experienced it, they simply couldnt give it.