"Come on in, the party's swine." PRT: 2:01

There's a fine line between the pig sty and the party: That's the biggest takeaway from my reading of Henri Nouwen's classic Return of the Prodigal Son years ago. It's a remarkably candid and piercing glimpse through the storms of Nouwen's life, based on his being captured by Rembrandt's painting of the same title.

I hadn't thought specifically about Nouwen (my second favorite author after C.S. Lewis) in some time. I was reminded of its disarming relevance at Sunday's Birthday Bash celebrating the first birthday of Living Stones Covenant Church yesterday http://livingstonescov.org/. PJ (Pastor John) was the host for a day filled with sunshine, events with hosters and hostettes walking around in their brand new brown (the new black) Living Stones t-shirts meeting, greeting and welcoming the visitors from this ethnically diverse neighborhood in Minneapolis. The back of their shirts on the back proudly displays the tag line ("positioning line" or "brand promise" for us brand snobs) I recently helped them define; the promise; the credo; the passion; the invitation from these delightful One-Year-Olds: Be. Home. Here. The event held in the parking lot of the high school where they meet had all the trappings of a festive moment:

Hoola Hoops. Street hockey. Putt putt. Live music. Face painting. Crafts. Moon walk. Food. Drink. And of course the ubiquitous Sno Cones.

Hispanic. African-American. Asian. Anglo. Messy Messianic (that would be me). 

Young. Older. Even Older (that would be me). Single. Married. 

Excited. Curious. Tentative. Engaged. Wandering. At home. Lost. Found.

Let me say that this church, versus so many houses of faith that invite you in without always welcoming you in (read Barna's Unchurched...or just ask the next ten 18-25 year-olds you meet what they think about church, or synagogue or....), lives out what it says. They really, honestly, genuinely, passionately care about every single person who walks through the door.

After 90 minutes of fun, PJ gently addressed the crowd before sending them to the food feast. With his magical smile that shines brighter than the sun, he welcomed everyone and shared the story of the prodigal son from Luke 15. As the story goes, the younger of two sons had taken his inheritance, left home and squandered it all food, wine and women. Now broke, he ends up working at a pig farm where he laments:  "He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything."

Here's my favorite part that follows, conveying the idea of what happened when he came to his senses: "When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many of my father's hired men have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired men.' So he got up and went to his father. 

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him. 

“The son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' 

"But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate."

Ran away. Squandered. Forgot. Realized. Lamented. Went home. Covered with the stench carried from the pig sty. Humbled. Embraced. Celebrated. 

Let me ask you a question: Have you ever known you have chosen a path ( or a moment) where you squandered some or many of the gifts of your life? Are you like me, that those times carry a nauseating stench of that just does not seem to wash off? Even worse have you felt as though no one will accept you back if you let them know the truth?

After PJ's message I, by chance, ended up speaking with a Stoner (couldn't resist) who I had not met before. He told me how much he enjoyed the message I had shared a few weeks earlier at a service about "The Power of [your] story." And then, something unexpected happened. He began with, "I want to tell you something I have never shared with anyone outside of my family or close circle of friends." It was a heartfelt story of his personal struggles through a difficult time in his life. He felt lost. Unworthy. Soiled. I told him I had lived that picture as well. And that's when the oil of our stories brushed and mingled together on the canvas of that moment. Stinking to high heaven, we were there; sitting before Rembrandt's masterpiece. Embraced in the arms of acceptance. I think we then both heard the soft whisper: Be. Home. Here.

We rejoined the party.

For emphasis - (b)