In the Father's House

The van ride to the remote village is uneventful though rocky. We careen down rough dirt roads at breakneck speed. The vehicle bounces up and down and rolls from side to side in perpetual motion.

Seats are positioned to maximize occupancy. We are wedged between one another with knees pressed into seatbacks.


Word of our arrival spreads from house to house. People emerge cautiously to survey the novelty of white people in their midst.

Our hosts direct us to a narrow bench under the eve of a mud walled house where we wait. Church members from a sister village set up a few folding chairs in a central location under the shade of sparsely branched trees. They sing and drum, calling residents to come out and join us.


Some gaze from a distance as if too shy to come closer and yet too curious to leave. Others approach deliberately as if determined not to miss this rare experience.

We are directed to take our place in the folding chairs. A leader from a church in a neighboring village introduces fair-skinned guests from America. The leader of this village has given permission for our visit and extends a public welcome. Some seem happy that we have come while others look puzzled.


To my left, on the fringe of the growing crowd, sit a row of children. They watch the proceedings unobtrusively and with great intensity as if we are engaged in the most serious business in the world. I am amazed at their well mannered behavior. The adults gather on my right. Some stand with arms folded. Others sit in relaxed fashion in the grass.

We are led in a time of singing. Drums play. People dance. Larry and Scott share simple messages communicating what it means to know a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.


The essence of my faith is contained in a parable which Jesus tells in Luke 15:11-32.

A son comes to his father and demands his inheritance. The father is wise enough to know that keeping a child at home against his will has few benefits. For love to exist it must be freely chosen. So the father relents and gives his son the part of his estate which belongs to him.

The young man leaves home, moves to a far county and proceeds to squander resources his father spent a lifetime amassing. The glamour of the high life fades with time. Destitute and hungry, he is reduced to feeding pigs in order to survive.


One day he awakens to the reality that servants in his father’s house enjoy a better existence than does he. A decision is made to return home. He will apologize to his father for the mess he has made of things and humbly acknowledge that he is no longer worthy of being a son. His plea is to be taken back as part of the hired help.

A father’s love is inexhaustible. The longing for the young man’s return never diminishes. The road is watched with an undying hope that the path which led the boy away will also bring him home. The father spots him from a distance and runs out to meet him. He’s welcomed home with outstretched arms that melt into a warm embrace.

The well rehearsed speech is delivered with sincerity. The son is truly changed. He left on his own terms. Now he comes home to submit himself fully to his father’s love. He understands in a way he never did before that the father always had his best interests at heart.

In response, the father does the unexpected. Logic is ignored. Apologies are accepted. Past mistakes are forgiven. The son is reinstated into the family with all rights and privileges. For the first time the young man is truly home. His father always loved him. That never changed. Now he freely chooses the love of the father. That makes all the difference.


The life we’re given is a gift from our Creator. Every moment we live, every breath we breathe is provided by a Father who loves us more than we can imagine. We often take his gifts for granted and spend them plotting our own course. Sometimes we journey a long way from his love only to find that a life of our own making falls far short of his plans for us.

Every once in a while someone awakens to the emptiness of life as it is and begins to long for life as it could be. Life can be lived without the Father or in his presence. This decision is left to each individual. No one can decide for us.

As a son who found himself a ways from home, I can only say that that real peace and joy escaped me until the day when life was submitted into the Father's care and keeping. In a real sense, I never knew what life was about until a commitment was made to share it with the One who gave me life.

Everything I am or hope to be is owed to Him. I’m not always the son I should be and life isn’t always easy. But the Father’s capacity to forgive is great. There’s comfort while negotiating the rough spots in the knowledge that I am never alone.

Not everyone chooses to take this road less traveled but for me it has made all the difference. I have never regretted choosing the path which leads home to the Father.


On this day, in a tiny northwest Tanzanian community, sixteen people also choose that path. A church leader from a neighboring village accepts responsibility for leading this new group of believers. A man offers his home as a meeting place. By day’s end we’ll be rumbling down the road on our return journey but tomorrow a new church will hold its first services.


We are invited to share lunch in the home of one of the townspeople. While the men share conversation over a cup of tea and roasted peanuts, the women and children work out back to prepare a simple meal of rice and sautéed cabbage.


Scott encourages us to only eat from one side of our bowl. In all likelihood what we do not eat will be reserved to feed the women and children once we are done. If tables were turned, would I be willing to eat a guest’s remains? The question is unsettling. Long held values are challenged by an act of extreme generosity offered by people whose acquaintance I have just made.


The trip back to the van is a slow process. Handshakes and embraces accompany expressions of gratitude and goodbyes. We run a gauntlet of people wishing us well on our journey and communicating appreciation for our coming. Before boarding the van’s cramped interior the man in whose home we have dined requests that our picture be taken together.


I may never have the privilege of seeing new Tanzanian brothers and sisters again in this life. But we will meet again.

In the Father’s house.