In general, I shy away from posting things of a personal nature here, but I know that you will forgive and indulge me sharing this bit of exciting news in our family.  About two hours ago, a plane took of from Johannesburg, South Africa, heading to Paris, starting the first leg of my daughter Faith’s trip home.  She left Swaziland Friday and then had a chance to attend the Passion Conference’s World Tour in Joburg.

Now at last, she’s on her way home.  The last twelve weeks have flown by for all of us, but it still has been a long time.  We’ve all missed her terribly, although Chris admits to kind of enjoying being an "only child" for the summer, not to mention having the car all to himself.

Her plane arrives in ATL tomorrow afternoon at 1:40 after stops in Paris and Amsterdam.  I’m sure she’ll be exhausted, but I know she will have a bunch of stories to tell us about her amazing summer in Swazi.

Tomorrow will be a very momentous day for the Riley family.  Faith arrives home, Chris heads back to work as an ASP worker at an area elementary school, and Fonda has her first day of classes as the Music Specialist at another area elementary school.

I have the best job tomorrow.  I get to be the chauffeur who collects Faith from the airport and brings her home!

Check out Faith’s blog from Swaziland here.

Just moments ago, we finished watching Steven Curtis Chapman and his family on CNN’s Larry King Live.  It was an incredible interview where God was honored, the Gospel was shared and the eternal question of why bad things happen to good people - what C.S. Lewis called "The Problem of Pain" - was addressed as well as I’ve seen it addressed in a long time.

For those of you who do not know, Steven Curtis Chapman’s adopted daughter Maria Sue was killed this past May in a tragic accident in the driveway of their home.  She was run over by an SUV driven by her brother Will.  Such a tragic circumstance could rip even a solid family apart.  Guilt, anger, blame, remorse, and grief could so easily have caused the Chapmans to doubt their faith, to blame each other, or to blame God.

Instead, tonight on Larry King Live America and the world saw a family whose faith is the real deal.  A family who has been tested in the worst kind of way and emerged to say that God is good and that His grace is sufficient.  We got a glimpse into the heart and soul of a high-profile Christian personality and saw clearly that he truly believes - and lives - every word that he has written, sung about and proclaimed for the last 21 years.

It was especially touching to hear how immediately after the accident their focus was not on their dead daughter but on their devastated son, Will.  They told of Steven physically wrapping his arms around his son and assuring him of his love, and assuring him that they did not blame him for what happened.

One story in particular broke my heart, yet warmed it at the same time.  At the hospital after they learned that their daughter had indeed passed away, the family prayed together and asked God to show them something to assure them that Maria was OK, that she was safe in His arms.  When they got back home, they found a picture that Maria had colored the morning of the accident.  It was a flower with six petals.  One of the petals was shaded in blue.  Beside the flower, Maria had written in huge letters S-E-E.  They said Maria had never written that word before.  As far as they knew, the five year-old Maria only knew how to spell her first name.  The message of the picture was clear to the Chapmans.  They had six children.  One of them was now in heaven.  "See," she was telling them, "I’m OK."

There is a great scene in the movie Chariots of Fire. Eric Liddel, the "Flying Scotsman," the great 1924 Olympic Champion and the Pride of Scotland felt that he needed to retire from running and spend his life in more serious and important pursuits like preaching and sharing his faith.  Eric’s pastor and another clergyman come to see him, seeking to persuade him to keep running for the glory of God.  They wanted Eric to see that his notoriety, his fame, and the legions of young people who idolized him were opportunities to influence lives for the gospel that a simple preacher would not have. 

The pastor looked at Eric earnestly and said, "What the world needs to see today, Eric, is muscular Christians."

What all of America saw tonight on CNN was muscular Christians.  Champions. 

Overcomers.

Skip Caray died in his sleep in his Atlanta home Sunday afternoon.  The bulletin on the news wire a couple hours ago was not unexpected, but it still stung.  It was like hearing a member of the family had passed, because in a sense, that is exactly what happened. For more than 30 years, we’ve been listening to Skip call Braves games, telling us the hometown of fans who come up with foul balls and announcing that once again the wave has broken out in the ballpark "for no apparent reason." 

We loved his nasally voice, his blunt assessments of people and events, and his Yoda-like syntax ("Safely reached in each of the last five games, has Yunel Escobar…")  We loved his feigned indignation with fans who would call up during his pregame show with yet another question about the Infield Fly Rule.

Skip has been in poor health for the last several years.  He almost died this past Spring.  His doctors called the family in and told them to say their goodbyes.  But Skip rallied and even returned to the broadcast booth.  He sounded weak but he still had his trademark sense of humor and sarcasm.

There were some baseball fans who didn’t care for Skip, but he was always one of my favorites.  He and Pete Van Wieren, "The Professor" made an incredible team.  They helped us get through the dark days of the 1970s and 80s, when it was mighty tough to be a Braves fan.  Skip even famously participated (along with Ted Turner) in pre-game shenanigans like Ostrich races to try to bring fans to the ballpark, since they weren’t coming for the baseball.  Then, Skip and Pete were the voice of the seemingly invincible Braves as they brought post season play to Atlanta for fourteen autumns in a row. 

None of us will ever forget Skip’s call of Game 7 of the ‘92 NLCS.  The Braves trailed by one in the bottom of the ninth. Third-string catcher Francisco Cabrera was at the plate, David Justice was on third and the notoriously slow Sid Bream was on second.  Skip calmly noted the huge gap in the outfield.  "If he hits one out there, we’ll be dancing in the streets," Skip said prophetically.

Cabrera did just that.  Justice scored easily from third, tying the game. Bream lumbered around the bases as Bonds - not known for his great arm - loaded up and threw to the plate.  Bond’s throw was up the first base line, pulling Pirates catcher Mike LaValliere off the plate.  LaValliere lunged back attempting to apply the tag to the sliding Bream.  Skip’s call was a classic:

Swung, line drive left field! One run is in! Here comes Bream! Here’s the throw to the plate! He is…SAFE! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win!…Braves win!

Skip Caray was a part of an iconic baseball broadcasting dynasty that included his late father Harry Caray, his son Chip, also a Braves announcer, and son Josh, an announcer for the Rome Braves. 

The Caray family was known for their colorful announcing, not for their family values.  Harry was, by all accounts, a pretty sorry excuse for a father.  Skip learned about his parent’s divorce from a Chicago newspaper as he walked to school.  Sadly, Skip followed in his father’s footsteps not just behind the mic but in his parenting skills as well.  Later in life, it broke Skip’s heart to realize that he had inflicted on his children the same pain that Harry had inflicted on him.  He cleaned up his act and did his best to make peace with his kids and with his father.

As far as Skip was concerned, the highlight of his career wasn’t the exciting calls he made during the Braves amazing 14-year run.  The biggest thrill for him was the 1991 game that he got to call with Harry and Chip not long before Harry passed away.  It was the only time in baseball history that three generations of baseball announcers shared a booth together.

After Chip joined the Braves announcing team, there was something very special about hearing the banter in the booth between him and Skip, especially when they would dispense with the broadcast formalities and refer to each other as "Dad" or "Son."  This past Father’s Day, Skip urged the audience to call their Dads that day if they were still blessed to be able to do so.  "Once they’re gone, you would give anything in the world to be able to talk to them, but you can’t," he said.

Skip suffered from the same medical dilemma that my took my father’s life - the deadly combination of kidney and heart failure. Treating the heart failure is bad for the kidneys, treating the kidneys is bad for the heart.  About all you can do is try to maintain a balance of treatments while the patient gets weaker and weaker.  Just a few weeks ago, Skip said he had no regrets. "I’ve had a great life… it’s been a great run."

That great run ended today, and for us it is the end of an era.  It is so hard to imagine Braves baseball without Skip Caray.  It is so sad to realize we will never hear him call a game again, never hear the banter between Skip and Pete.  We’ll never again hear him explain the Infield Fly Rule… again.  We’ll never hear him declare that a fan from Monroe, Georgia came up with the baseball hit into the stands.  We’ll never again hear him declare that it’s "free baseball in Atlanta" as a game goes to extra innings.

Farewell, old friend.  You will be greatly missed.

Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, "Sit here while I go over there and pray." He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me." Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will."  Matthew 26:36-39 (NIV)

I have two children whom I love dearly. I would do almost anything for them.  I know in my heart that if needed I would lay my life on the line to protect them.  Yet over the years, there have been numerous times that I have said no to their requests.

In most of those cases, they were asking for something that I knew was ultimately not good for them.  Sometimes it broke my heart to say no to them. But as their father I knew what was best for them in the larger scheme of things.

We have a phrase for children who are given everything that they ask for… spoiled brats.

You’ve met them, I know.  They are obnoxious and arrogant, and not grateful for anything because they had everything handed to them on a silver platter. I’m sure that you also know some of the adult manifestations of that kind of irresponsible parenting.  Those obnoxious and arrogant children became obnoxious and arrogant adults who expected the world to continue to cater to their every whim just like Mommy and Daddy did.

So it is with God.  God knows our needs, and He also sees the "big picture" that you and I cannot see from our limited finite human perspective.  Just as we know when to say no to our children whom we love, God knows when to say no to us.

Now I realize there is a school of thought in the Body of Christ today that holds to the opinion that when we pray in faith, that God always answers in the affirmative.  Some of those who hold to this belief are good friends of mine. Some of them are people who I greatly respect.  But I respectfully differ with them in this area. 

Looking back on my life, I can tell you time after time after time when I earnestly prayed for a certain outcome that now, with the blessing of hindsight I realize was not best for me.  There was a ministry position that I was absolutely convinced God was leading me to.  When God closed that door  - actually "slammed" would be a better description - I was heartbroken and dejected.  Months later I found out that the position I thought was so ideal was actually a horrible situation where there was serious sin in the camp.  Had God given me what I begged Him for in that instance, I would have been in the middle of a colossal mess.

I am certain that if you reflect back on your life, you can relate similar circumstances in your life. Maybe it was a boyfriend or girlfriend that you just knew they were "The One" but after God closed that door you realized in hindsight they weren’t.  Maybe it was a house or some other material possession that you asked God for and after He said no you realized that once again He knew best.

We once just knew that God had led us to a certain house.  We even walked around it and prayed, thanking God for leading us to this house and laying claim to it in the spiritual realm.  Two days later the house got sold out from under us.  Again, we were dejected and felt like God ignored us.  He didn’t ignore us… He just said no.  Just three months later God clearly opened the door for us to follow Him in obedience to another area of ministry in another state.  If we had bought the house we had our hearts set on, we would have been entangled in that and it would have been difficult to go where God was sending us.  God knew that, so He said no.

I believe that every word of the Bible is there for a reason. I am convinced that God gave us a glimpse into the heart of Jesus when He prayed in the Garden just before his suffering and death for us. His prayer in the garden is a model prayer for you and me.  Basically, in that prayer Jesus told His Father, "Here’s what I want, but above all, I want what You want. I want Your will to be done."

There have been many times in my life that God answered our prayers in an unmistakable way.  I am so thankful for those times, for they have strengthened my faith.  But I am equally thankful for the times when God said no. 

Because my Father knows best.

As a general rule, we Americans are among the most historically astute people on earth.  If you don’t believe me, just see how many historical markers you pass on the way home tonight.  I live near the site of several significant Civil War battles, so those things are everywhere around here.  (My favorite is one right around the corner from my house that says "TARLETON’S MOVEMENTS." I have never stopped to read it, but the title brings out my inner 5th Grader and makes me giggle.)

So can someone explain to me why it is in this land that so highly values the preservation of historic locations we are tearing down Yankee Stadium?  Oh, I know the new one will be 63% larger and it will carry over some of the look and feel of the original.  And I also understand that the Steinbrenner Family (don’t get me started on this subject…) all but blackmailed New York into building them a new stadium.  And I know that the old ballpark was built in 1923 and so it is really, really old.

All of which begs the question in my mind… "So???"

We are talking about the House That Ruth Built here, folks.  This place has witnessed more history than most places that are on (and protected by) the National Register of Historic Places.  More iconic - almost mythic - figures have graced these grounds than most places that we deem as National Landmarks.  If it is true - and it is in this writer’s never to be humble opinion - that Baseball is America’s Pastime, and that baseball history is inextricably intertwined with American history, then the tearing down of Yankee Stadium is as unthinkable as tearing down Mt. Vernon or Monticello and replacing it with a more modern version that retained some of the original’s architectural features.  You just don’t tear down history.

For those of you who might say this is just a ballpark, consider, if you will, the following:

When Yankee Stadium was under construction in 1922, the immortal Babe Ruth said, "I’d give a year of my life if I can hit a home run in the first game in this new park."  In the third inning of the first game ever played there on April 18, 1923, The Bambino went deep and became the first person to hit a home run in the new park.

As the legendary 1927 Yankees were barreling toward 110 wins and a sweep of the Pirates in the ‘27 World Series, Babe Ruth did the unthinkable by hitting 60 home runs.  To put this in perspective, that was more home runs than any team hit that year.

On July 4, 1939, an ailing Lou Gehrig bid farewell before a packed house of adoring fans - most of whom openly wept at the thought of never seeing him play again - and told them that he considered himself to be "the luckiest man on the face of the earth."  As ALS took it’s toll on him physically, Gehrig had first benched himself, then retired for the good of the team.  That day was proclaimed "Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day" and it marked the first time in history that a player’s number was retired.  Two years later, Gehrig was dead at the age of 38.  (Click here to watch Gehrig’s famous address)

After the tragic 1979 death of Yankee catcher and captain Thurman Munson in a plane crash, Bobby Murcer delivered a moving eulogy at the funeral in Canton, Ohio.  The stunned team flew back to the Bronx that evening for a game against Baltimore. The Yankees trailed the Orioles by four runs until Murcer hit a three run homer in the seventh and then the game winning hit in the ninth, delivering a win in honor of their fallen teammate.  After the game, Murcer wept in the arms of teammate Lou Piniella. He gave his bat to Munson’s widow, Diana. To this day, Munson’s locker in the clubhouse sits vacant.

It was here in July, 1983 that Billy Martin instigated the famous "pine tar bat" controversy.  After a home run by Kansas City’s George Brett, Martin complained that the pine tar was too far up Martin’s bat. Technically, he was right according to the rules, so the umpire called Brett out and the home run didn’t count.  Brett went ballistic on a scale that was off the charts. He had to be restrained from hitting the ump. Eventually, league president Lee MacPhail overturned the ruling, the ninth inning was replayed and the Royals won 5-4.

Those who played or managed in Yankee Stadium are the best of the best of the best in the game: Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Roger Maris, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, Casey Stengel, Billy Martin, Reggie Jackson, Bobby Murcer, Thurman Munson and many others.

And it’s not just baseball history that has been made in this place: Did you know that it was in Yankee Stadium on November 10, 1928 that Notre Dame played Army and the Irish and Knute Rockne "won one for the Gipper"?  Or that here in 1938 Joe Louis knocked out Max Schmeling and in so doing effectively punched Adolph Hitler and his "Aryan Superiority" theory in the teeth?  Did you know that the Baltimore Colts defeated the New York Giants for the NFL Championship in Yankee Stadium on December 23, 1958? A one-yard touchdown run in sudden-death overtime culminated the game that many consider the greatest in football history.

I must confess that I am far from a neutral commentator on this subject.  It was in Yankee Stadium that my father first passed on to me his passion for baseball.  I lived in New York the first eight years of my life. Some of my earliest childhood memories are of being at Yankee Stadium and seeing Berra, Mantle and Maris play in person.  I had a glove signed by my hero, Whitey Ford.

Later this summer I will make a pilgrimage to Yankee Stadium to attend one more game there, and this grown man will probably shed a tear or two over the flood of memories… but also for the loss of a place that is hallowed ground to those of us who love the game of baseball.

About four miles from here in a cemetery in Marietta, Georgia, JonBenet Ramsey lies buried.  On her tombstone are inscribed the words "Love and purity, a gift to her family and the world, Home in the Peace of God."

The beautiful six year old girl is known to you and me only because of the circumstances of her tragic death.  When she died on Christmas Day, 1996, her story constituted the media equivalent of winning the lottery.  She was beautiful, she had won beauty pageants, her parents were rich, and she was murdered on Christmas Day. It was a whodunit that even Hollywood couldn’t have concocted. For most of 2007, news about the JonBenet Ramsey case would dominate the news.

Behind the media circus, there was a very real, very heartbreaking personal tragedy for John and Patsy Ramsey. First of all, they had to deal with their daughter being sexually assaulted and murdered in their home while they slept. John had the additional heartbreak of finding his daughter’s body in the wine cellar of their home.  If you are a parent, you know that it couldn’t get much worse than that set of circumstances.

But for John and Patsy, it did get worse.  Much, much worse.

Early in the investigation, the Boulder, Colorado Police and District Attorney - who, as it turns out could mess up the proverbial two car parade - decided that one or both of the parents were responsible for JonBenet’s death.  They let it be known in the media that the parents were the prime suspects in the case. The DA stated publicly that the Ramseys were under "an umbrella of suspicion."

The Ramseys always maintained their innocence and insisted that an unknown intruder killed JonBenet. But, thanks to the Boulder Police and the media, most people around the world believed that John or Patsy killed JonBenet, and then tried to make it look like an intruder did it.  Another popular theory held that their son Burke molested and killed JonBenet and then John and Patsy staged the crime scene to cover up Burke’s involvement.

Patsy Ramsey lost her 13-year battle with ovarian cancer in 2006. She went to her grave with a cloud of suspicion still hanging over her family. She died knowing that most people around the world thought she killed her own daughter.

Finally last week, DNA testing once again conclusively proved that John, Patsy and Burke were not involved in JonBenet’s death.  By the way, you will notice the use of the word "again" in the preceding sentence.  That is because several previous DNA tests also exonerated the Ramseys.  In those cases, the DA said the tests were flawed.  This time there was no wiggle room with the results. After last week’s test results were released, the Boulder Police stated that the scientific evidence indicates that JonBenet’s attacker was - are you ready for this? - an unknown intruder. 

One of the cornerstones of our criminal justice system is the presumption of innocence; We are presumed innocent until we are proven guilty.  There is no doubt that the system failed John and Patricia Ramsey.  It turned the worst moment in their lives into the event that for all practical purposes ruined their lives.

Back in 1987, former labor secretary Raymond Donovan was acquitted of charges of fraud and larceny arising out of a very suspicious prosecution.  After he was adjudicated innocent, Donovan famously said, "Now where do I go to get my reputation back?" The sad truth is there is no way to undo the damage.  You can’t unring a bell.

Oh, sure the Boulder DA officially apologized to the Ramseys last week. "To the extent that this office has added to the distress suffered by the Ramsey family at any time or to any degree, I offer my deepest apology," he wrote. But what about all of the pundits and "experts" that appeared on TV with Geraldo Rivera, Nancy Grace, CourtTV or any of the other bottom-feeding entertainment journalists out there and declared that John or Patsy or both were guilty?  Are they going to apologize to the Ramseys also?  Not a chance - they are on to a new ratings-grabbing story.

In this day of 24 hour news cycles and what seems to be the media circus du jour, the principle of the presumption of innocence is in serious jeopardy.  Anyone who is publicly identified as a "person of interest" in any high profile case is immediately presumed guilty by a large percentage of the viewing public.  And there is no where you can go to get your good name back.

Just ask John Ramsey.

In the day in which we live, it takes a lot to shock us.  We see so much sorrow, death and destruction each night on the news that after a while we become desensitized to it.

But last night, I saw something that shocked, sickened and saddened me.  Maybe you saw it, too.

A 49 year old woman named Esmin Green was admitted to the emergency room of King’s County Hospital Center in New York for psychiatric evaluation, and she was left in the waiting room for over 24 hours.  At 5:32 am, the security camera shows her collapsing on the floor.  For the next 30 minutes, Ms. Green lay on the floor convulsing, moving and at one point appearing to try to get up. Hospital workers and employees came in, looked at the woman and then left.  One even appeared to be looking at the television while completely ignoring the stricken woman.  She stopped moving at 6:07 am.

One hour and three minutes after she collapsed, a hospital worker came into the room and nudged Ms. Green with her foot.  When she got no response, the worker waited a few minutes more and then summonded help.  But it was too late.  Esmin Green was dead.

How could someone collapse in a hospital’s waiting room and lay there for an hour until she died?  How could hospital workers and perhaps other people waiting for treatment in the waiting room ignore someone who was obviously in need of help?  How could people be so uncaring and heartless toward another human being?

Today we heard that six workers at King’s County have been fired for their failure to help Ms. Green and for their attempts to cover it up. Obviously, they should have been.  But as I thought about this story during the day today, I can’t help but think that to one extent or another, you and I are in some ways as guilty of neglect as those hospital workers.

Now to be sure, if someone collapsed in the hall outside my office or in the parking deck as I was walking to my car, I would no doubt act decisively to assist them and to summon help.  I am sure you would do the same.  But how many times recently have I crossed paths with someone who was in great need spiritually or emotionally and I ignored them just as those hospital workers ignored Esmin Green?

Jesus told the parable of the Good Samaritan to expose the racism and elitism of the Pharisees. He also wanted to point out their lack of compassion for those in need.  You remember the story… a man is attacked, beat up, and left for dead.  Several religious leaders pass by the injured man before a Samaritan - a group of people hated by the Jews - stopped to help. 

In those moments when we are being really honest with ourselves and with God, we know in our hearts that left to our own devices we tend to be like the Pharisees.  It is when we are being like Jesus that we reach out in love and compassion to help and to share the gospel with all we come in contact with.  Our culture teaches us to withdraw from and distrust those who we don’t know and those who are not like us.  Jesus has set us free to love like He loves.

And He reminds us that when we touch the least of these we are touching Him.  When we refuse them, we are refusing Him.

Lord, make me sensitive to the needs, the cares, the concerns, the hurts, and the spiritual condition of those that I come in contact with today!

One of my favorite movies of all time is a picture called "Mr Holland’s Opus."  It’s a good movie in and of itself, but I will always have a soft spot for this movie because when I saw it for the first time in the theater, it delivered a powerful message to my heart that I really needed to hear.

"Mr Holland’s Opus" is sort of a modern version of "It’s a Wonderful Life." In the film, Mr. Holland (played by Richard Dreyfus) is a musician with dreams of making it big as a composer.  To make ends meet and to put food on the table, he takes a job as a music teacher in a school.  He enjoys interacting with the students and teaching them music, but he still dreams of success, fame and adulation as a composer.  He tells his wife he will just teach for a year or so to get them back on their feet financially.  That one year turns into two, those two years into ten, those ten years into twenty, and before you know it, it is time for him to retire.

As he reaches the end of his teaching career, Mr. Holland is dejected and feels like a total failure.  He has wasted his life teaching school and never made it big.  He cleans out his desk and heads home for the last time. One of his fellow teachers uses some excuse to get him to come into the school’s auditorium and he is shocked by what he finds.  The auditorium is filled with thousands of his former students, all of whom have come to let Mr. Holland know how much he affected their lives.  Each one of the students has a story to tell how they were touched, inspired, motivated, challenged, or encouraged by this man who was much, much more than just a music teacher to them.

Mr. Holland looked around the room and realized that he was not a failure.  He saw all these people who had been impacted by his life and he realized that while he didn’t make it big in the way he wanted to, there was no way around the fact that he had been a success in his career.

If we are not careful, we can buy into the world’s definition of success and that becomes the yardstick by which we measure our lives.  But that is not the measure that God uses!  He is much more concerned with how you lived your life than the stuff that you accumulate.  He is more interested in how many people you are bringing to heaven with you than with the size of your 401K.  He is more impressed by the people you invest your time, effort and love into, than your investmen portfolio.  It is those things that are eternal that touch the heart of God.

When I was a little boy, my father gave me a little fold-out placard for my birthday.  It still sits on my desk in my study as a reminder of what real success is.  That placard simply says,

"Only one life will soon be past; Only what’s done for Christ will last."

Do you sometimes feel like a failure in the world’s eyes?  If so, think about the lives that you have touched, and think about the heavenly version of Mr. Holland’s surprise party in the school auditorium!  Think about all of the people whose lives you have touched by acts of kindness, or service.  Think about those who you have shared Christ with who will be in heaven because of you.  Imagine all of those people gathered together in heaven to welcome you home and to thank you for touching their lives.

And then hear the voice of Jesus saying, "My child, look around you, for great is your reward…"

One of the most beautiful stories in the Bible we know as the parable of the Prodigal Son.  At a point earlier in the history of the church it was called the parable of the Lost Son.  To be honest, I think both of those titles miss the point of the whole story.  The story at it’s core isn’t about the mistakes of the son.  It is about the amazing love of a father. I’m not sure why those who attached a title to this story over the years chose to concentrate on the son who left, especially since Jesus begins the story by saying, "A certain man had two sons…"

You probably know the story well. The younger of the two sons tells his father to give him his inheritance.  He soon takes off for a distant country - probably the Middle East’s equivalent of Las Vegas - and squanders all of his money on wild living.  As soon as the money runs out, so do all of those who he thought were his friends.  Eventually he finds himself in the worst possible job a young jewish man could stoop to do - feeding pigs.  He was so bad off that he wanted to eat the slop that he was feeding to the pigs.

The Bible says the young man came to his senses and realized that his father’s servants lived much better than he was currently living.  He decided to go beg his father to let him be one of his servants.  As he made the long journey home, no doubt he rehearsed over and over in his mind what he would say to his Father… "I have sinned against heaven and against you…I am no longer worthy to be called your son… make me one of your hired servants."

Then there are two things in the story that are nothing short of amazing.  First, we are told that the Father sees him coming while he is still a long way off.  That means the Father was looking for him…staring down that road, hoping against hope to see his son come down that road returning home.  The second amazing thing is that when the Father realized it was indeed his son coming home he ran to him and threw his arms around him, hugging and kissing his son.

The son was probably stunned.  This wasn’t the chilly reception he anticipated.  He blurted out the speech he had been rehearsing: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me one of your hired servants."  The father probably didn’t even hear the speech.  He was busy gleefully telling his servants what  to do now: "Bring the best robe you have and put it on him!  Put a ring on his finger! Prepare a party!  My son has come home!"

This is not a story about the wayward son who left home and squandered all his money.  Nor is it a story about the son who stayed home but did not share his father’s joy over the brother who came home.  No, this a story about an amazing father who loved his son unconditionally.  A father who never stopped loving his son even when his actions hurt him deeply.  A father who never stopped believing his son would eventually come home.  A father who was looking down the road watching for his son.  A father who ran to his son, rejoicing that he had returned to him.

I was blessed to have an earthly father like that. So much of who I am today I owe to my father, who is now in heaven.  I long more than anything to be that kind of father to my son and my daughter.  I long to pass on that legacy of love, support, encouragement and faith to them and to their children.  I hope you had a father like that, too.

But maybe you didn’t.  Maybe your earthly father was cold, distant, maybe even abusive.  If so, I have good news for you.

At the end of the day, this story isn’t about a man and his two sons. It is about your Heavenly Father.  Jesus told this story to illustrate to us that we all have a Heavenly Father who, like the father in the parable, loves us unconditionally. Whenever we stray from Him, He is waiting, longing, believing that we will come back home to Him.  When we do, He is that Father who runs to us, showers us with His love, and restores us.  He gives us what we don’t deserve and He celebrates the fact that the prodigal has come home.

Happy Father’s Day!

Last Father’s Day, my family gave me a copy of Tim Russert’s book "Wisdom of our Fathers."  The book, a sequel to his 2001 bestseller "Big Russ and Me," is an incredibly touching book, and it has a great story behind it.  Russert’s first book told about growing up in South Buffalo under the guiding hand of his father.  One reviewer wrote, "Most adult men have a difficult time embracing their fathers.  Russert spends 22 chapters hugging his in this book."

Almost as soon as "Big Russ and Me" hit the shelves, Russert began getting wonderful letters from people about the relationship they had with their fathers.  Some were funny, some were heartbreaking.  Some told of wonderfully close relationships, others told of waiting too late to make things right, and having to live with the regrets for the rest of their lives. Russert read them all, and realized this was a story that needed to be told.  Out of those letters came "Wisdom of Our Fathers."

Tim Russert passed away suddenly yesterday while recording voice-overs for tomorrow’s edition of Meet the Press, the iconic Sunday news show that he hosted for 17 years, longer than any other host in the history of the program.  It is ironic, in an incredibly sad way that Tim Russert died two days before Father’s Day, since he is known by millions for writing two bestselling books celebrating fathers and fatherhood.

Fatherhood wasn’t something Russert wrote about in the abstract.  He was a dedicated son to Big Russ who now survives him, but he was also a doting father to his son Luke, Tim and Maureen’s only child.  They say that off camera he was constantly talking about his family.  Tim, Maureen and Luke just took a trip to Italy to celebrate Luke’s graduation from Boston College.  Maureen and Luke were still there when the news came that Tim had died.

On Meet the Press recently, Terry McAuliff - Hillary Clinton’s resident lunatic - made a moronic remark about how Big Russ must be smiling down from heaven.  Russert patiently informed McAuliff that Big Russ is still very much alive. Just last weekend, Russert was back in Buffalo to move big Russ into a home.

I had a chance to meet Russert once in the late 1980s, not long after he became NBC’s Washington Bureau Chief.  He and ABC’s Jeff Greenfield were on a panel discussion.  Both of them seemed to be regular guys who didn’t take themselves too seriously, and they certainly weren’t prima donnas like many in the news business were.

Tim Russert was, by all accounts, one of the genuinely good guys.  He was secure in his own skin and comfortable with his abilities, so he was never threatened by someone else’s advancement in the news business.  His closest friends were his competitors, so when he passed yesterday, there were people on every network - cable and broadcast - who were choking back tears as they reported the news of Russert’s passing. The list of people who got their start or their first job in broadcast journalism from Russert reads like a who’s who of today’s news reporters.  As host of Meet the Press, he reached out beyond the circle of Beltway elites to bring in talented journalists to the weekly panel. 

In a move that must have made blue bloods at the Washington Post gag, Russert added David Brody, senior correspondent for CBN news to the panel.  Brody handled himself well and proved Russert’s instincts right yet again.  It’s hard to imagine who will succeed Russert in the host’s chair for Meet the Press.

Tim Russert was a giant in the field of broadcast journalism, yet he never allowed his success or his love of politics and the news business to overshadow his family or his faith.  He never forgot who he was and where he came from.  He was and always would be was the kid from South Buffalo, a diehard Bills fan, Maureen’s devoted husband and Luke’s doting dad.  And Big Russ’ loving and appreciative son.