Happiness?

Dear one,
In a recent exchange, I expressed one of my “romantic” or “whimsical” desires. There certainly was nothing wrong with the expression of my desire, but from that exchange, I was again reminded: both within the context of our American culture, and within many a Christian community, we do well to distinguish between our various needs and desires.

Five days ago, as we celebrated our nation’s founding, the words of those who attended the Continental Congress came to mind: “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” These words, I believe, expressed their deep-seated desires; however, given our national experiment of two hundred forty-five years, I sense that those three desires have been reduced to one: “the pursuit of happiness.” For so many of us, “life” is to be the fulfilment of our personal happiness and “liberty” is to be the means of achieving that happiness.

Now, if I return to my “romantic” desires, I find two questions emerging: Are these desires truly the expression of my deepest longings or need, or are they a cultural overlay promising happiness? Will this venture or that vacation, this career or that car, this friendship or that fashion truly fulfill the desires of my heart? Of course, the rhetorical way I have framed these questions immediately elicits: “No. None of these will fulfill those deepest longings or needs.” Ah, but are those “lesser” desires wrong? To this question I think Jesus’ Parable of … of the Prodigal … the Prodigal Father? … the Watching Father? … comes to mind.

Recall: the second and younger son, with shameless disregard, squandered his inheritance (cp. Luke 15:11-32), only then to determine: “I will become a slave within my father’s household.” But his father would have none of it. Instead, with the watchful eye of love, he saw his son; ran to him; embraced and kissed him (no doubt meeting the son’s deepest need); and then regaled him with robe, ring, and sandals (no doubt meeting the son’s lesser desires).

Regarding the character of God, I tend to believe that the Parable of the Prodigal Father is Jesus’ most profound and insightful: our Triune Creator is not a stingy ogre, who enjoys tantalizing and impoverishing us; rather, His great delight is to embrace us with His love: our greatest need, as well as to provide our lesser desires: robes, rings, and sandals. So often our difficulty—or at least mine—is that of the two wayward sons: we desire the robe and ring apart from our true need: the Father’s sacrificial love.

Embraced,
Stan