A BOX OF CHOCOLATES
Back in 1994, Tom Hanks starred in a movie called Forrest Gump. Can you believe that movie was made 16 years ago? Anyway, the movie begins with an adult Forrest Gump sitting on a bench at a bus stop, talking to people who are at the bus stop with him. At one point he says to a woman, “My momma always said, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.’” He ends up telling his whole life story to the people gathered there.
Forrest Gump was a little bit slow mentally, and early on he was a little bit slow physically, as well, because of these leg braces he had to wear. But Forrest got fast – so fast that he ended up playing football for Coach Bear Bryant at the University of Alabama. He became a hero in the Viet Nam War. He inadvertently discovered the Watergate break in. He became a world champion ping-pong player. He became a multi-millionaire in the shrimp business. And finally, he ended up marrying his life-long love, Jenny – who later died of AIDS – and raising their son, who was also named Forrest Gump.
The movie seems to wrestle with the question of fate. Do we have a destiny in life that is guided by God, or do the things that happen to us simply happen by chance? Forrest himself attempts to answer that question as he stands by his wife’s grave near the end of the movie. He says:
You died on a Saturday morning. And I had you placed here under our tree. And I had that house of your father’s bulldozed to the ground. Momma always said dyin’ was a part of life. I sure wish it wasn’t. Little Forrest, he’s doing just fine. About to start school again soon. I make his breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. I make sure he combs his hair and brushes his teeth every day. Teaching him how to play ping-pong. He’s really good. We fish a lot. And every night we read a book. He’s so smart, Jenny. You’d be so proud of him. I am. He, uh, wrote a letter, and he says I can’t read it. I’m not supposed to, so I’ll just leave it here for you, Jenny. I don’t know if Momma was right, or if – if it’s Lieutenant Dan. I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I – I think maybe it’s both. Maybe both is happening at the same time. I miss you, Jenny. If there’s anything you need, I won’t be far away.
Do we have a destiny in life that is guided by God, or do the things that happen to us simply happen by chance? Forrest Gump says, “Maybe it’s both.” Of course, at the end of the movie, as Forrest watches little Forrest ride off on a school bus, a feather rises up from the ground and floats around “…accidental-like on a breeze.” We’re left to draw our own conclusion.
Those who believe that the things that happen to us simply happen by chance could be advocates of what we call “process theology.” I had a class in seminary called God and the Problem of Belief. It was taught by a professor named Burton Cooper. Dr. Cooper was a wonderful man and one of the finest professors I ever had, but he had endured tremendous suffering in his life. He and his wife lost two children to a rare heart disease. In the aftermath of their suffering, his wife turned to the bottle, while Dr. Cooper turned to his books.
Dr. Cooper taught us process theology. At the heart of process theology is the belief that God is not sovereign, rather, God is a heavenly persuader. For example, if two trains are on a track and are headed toward each other at 90 miles an hour, the question is asked, “Could God stop the trains?” To say that God is sovereign is to say that God is all-powerful, all-knowing and present everywhere. If you believe that God is sovereign, you have to say that God could stop the trains. God may not stop the trains, but a sovereign God could. WHY God doesn’t stop the trains is another question entirely.
Process theology says that God could not stop the trains. Process theology says that God is not sovereign, rather, God is a heavenly persuader. In other words, God wants our lives to go well and God wants us to do right, but God is powerless to impact the outcome one way or the other. Thus, if you believe the things that happen to us simply happen by chance, you may have found your theology. You just might be a process theologian.
I must confess that I am not a process theologian. I was trained as a neo-orthodox systematic theologian, although in my old age I’ve become more of a modern orthodox systematic theologian because I am more enamored with God’s immanence that I am with God’s transcendence. I’ll explain what that means some other time. The point is this. I believe our lives are guided by God. I believe God is sovereign and I believe God has the power to impact an outcome one way or another.
Case in point, let’s take a look at the passage we read from the gospel according to Luke. The passage is famously known as The Parable of the Prodigal Son. Actually, however, my study Bible calls this passage The Parable of the Prodigal and His Brother. I like that title better because this passage isn’t just about the prodigal son. The older brother is significant in this passage as well, as we shall soon see.
You know the story, I suspect. There was a man who had two sons. The younger of the boys went to his father to ask for his inheritance. It was like he was saying, “Dad, give me what you’re gonna give me anyway when you die. I don’t necessarily want you to die now, but I do want half of what you have.” I don’t think I’d be too pleased if one of my boys said that to me. But then again, it’s not like they’d get a whole lot! Like most men my age, I’ m worth a whole lot more dead than I am alive.
So the younger brother asked for his share of his father’s estate. And his father gave it to him. Then the young man went out and squandered his inheritance on dissolute living. When he had spent every dime, a famine hit the land and the young man ended up feeding pigs, only he ate worse than they did. The young man had hit what we proverbially call “rock bottom,” a state of being that usually gets one’s attention.
The question we have to ask here is this. Do we have a destiny in life that is guided by God, or do the things that happen to us simply happen by chance? In other words, did God cause the young man to suffer, or was it just an accident? I don’t think I want to say that God caused the young man’s suffering. Perhaps we could say he brought it on himself. Yet on the other hand, one must prune a bush to enable it to grow, don’t you think? Maybe we could say that God allowed the young man’s suffering to bring about a greater good. Because the fact of the matter is, that is exactly what happened.
The prodigal son had squandered his inheritance on dissolute living and found himself in the midst of a famine. He was eating worse than the pigs he was feeding. Thus, he resolved to return to his father, confess his sin, and hope to live as one of his father’s hired hands.
Confession isn’t easy though, is it? I’m reminded of a “Calvin and Hobbes” comic strip. Calvin is a little boy with what we might call an active imagination. Hobbes is his stuffed tiger who comes to life as his imaginary friend. In one particular comic strip, Calvin turns to Hobbes and says, “I feel bad that I called Susie names and hurt her feelings. I’m really sorry I did that.”
Hobbes replies, “Maybe you should apologize to her.” Calvin thinks about that for a moment, then responds, “I just keep hoping there’s a less obvious solution!” Like I said, confession isn’t easy. We, too, might find ourselves looking for a less obvious solution. Yet confession is how we rectify things with others, and confession is how we rectify things with God, for confession always precedes repentance.
The prodigal son resolved to return to his father and confess his sin. Yet what did the father do when he saw his son in the distance? He ran to the boy, threw his arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. He put a robe on his back, a ring on his finger, and sandals on his feet. Then he threw the feast to end all feasts to welcome the prodigal home. In short, the father forgave his son, so deep was his love for his boy.
The parable of the prodigal son is meant to illustrate the way God looks at us. God is more than willing to forgive us, so deep is his love for us. I do think confession is a part of this, but the fact remains the same. Heaven and earth rejoice when a wayward son or daughter returns to God the Father. And God is not above making our circumstances such that we feel compelled to do just that.
Yet there remains the older son, does there not? The older son’s loyalty to his father never wavered. In fact, when the prodigal son returned, the older son was where he always was – working in the fields. When he found out from a servant that his brother had returned and that his father had thrown a party for him, he was outraged. In fact, the father actually had to come out to his older son and explain himself to him.
Let’s take a moment to examine theologically what might have been going on in the mind of the older son. He was loyal to his father. He obeyed his father’s rules. He never strayed, he never asked for his inheritance, and he never had a party thrown for him. Yet there was one important lesson he had not yet learned.
Frankly, this is quite similar to a lot of people in the church. There are a lot of people in the church who are steadfastly loyal to God. They obey their heavenly Father’s rules. They never stray, they never ask for anything outlandish, and they never have a party thrown for them. Then there’s all this fuss about – and focus upon – the people who are not there. Perhaps they sometimes feel as if they’re being taken for granted. Is there one important lesson that they might not have learned yet, either?
What is the point of our faith? What is the point of our spirituality? Aside from the inheritance of eternal life, the point of our faith and the point of our spirituality is this. We are called to love the Lord our God with all our heart and with all our soul and with all our strength and with all our mind. And, we are called to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. But what does it really mean to love our neighbors?
We tend to believe that love is a feeling. In other words, when we love someone, we believe we ought to feel warm and fuzzy about them inside. Listen to this. Teresa of Avila once went through a particularly dry period in her spiritual life. No matter how hard she tried, she simply could not feel the presence of God. What she ultimately came to discover was that her relationship with God was not based on a feeling, rather, it was based upon her ability to will the good. It occurs to me that maybe – just maybe – that’s what love really is as well. When we love someone, we don’t always feel warm and fuzzy inside. But if we truly love them, we do will good for them. To love someone is to will or to want what’s best for them.
The older brother was faithful to his father. He followed all the rules. He did what he was told. But he had not learned how to love. He was, in short, self-centered. To love is to become other-centered. To love someone is to wish them well, not just to feel good inside ourselves. Again, to love someone is to wish them well, not just to feel good inside ourselves. Had that older boy truly loved his little brother, he would have been pleased with what his father had done for him. Love was the lesson he had not yet learned. And by the providence of God, he was given an opportunity to learn it.
Truth be told, we don’t know exactly what happened to the older brother. Did he stay outside and pout, or did he go inside the house to where the party was? Did he die a crusty, old man who resented his brother to the bitter end, or did he learn the lesson of love God presented to him? Did he continue to focus upon his own wants and needs, or did he finally come to want what was best for his brother? Unfortunately, we’ll never know.
In the movie Forrest Gump, there is a scene where Jenny and Forrest are talking. Jenny says to Forrest, “Were you scared in Viet Nam?” Forrest replies:
Yes. Well, I – I don’t know. Sometimes it would stop raining long enough for the stars to come out…and then it was nice. It was like that just before the sun goes to bed down on the bayou. There was always a million sparkles on the water, like that mountain lake. It was so clear, Jenny, it looked like there were two skies, one on top of the other. And then in the desert, when the sun comes up, I couldn’t tell where heaven stopped and the earth began. It’s all so beautiful.
Forrest Gump’s mother was right. “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” But life is also indescribably beautiful, and I believe with all my heart that God is firmly in control. Why not enjoy the ride and maybe even learn to love one another along the way? Amen.
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