Just Come Home.

Returning to the always open arms of God.

Hey Friends!

Before you jump into this week’s article, I just wanted to make sure that you were aware that The Lighthouse is a podcast too. Each week I record and post this same article, because I know some people prefer to listen rather than read. If that’s you, subscribe to The Lighthouse Podcast wherever you listen. For sake of ease, you can find links to subscribe on Spotify and Apple Podcasts below. I hope it’s helpful!

- Ryan

You and I both live with what I call a belief gap.

There is often a gap between the things we hold to be true in our heads and the things we know and feel to be true in our “hearts,” for lack of a better term. This is especially true when it comes to our experience of faith. We may cognitively believe that God is with us, but we spend much of life feeling as though He’s absent. We may believe in our heads that God will bring good even out of the hardship of life, but we feel as if the hardship is the whole story. We might claim to believe God is in control, but we live each day feeling as if we must fight to control our experiences in life.

Psychologists would call this gap emotional dissonance. Emotional dissonance is when your mind believes something is true, but your heart has a hard time feeling its true. The concept originates from the broader framework of cognitive dissonance theory, developed by Leon Festinger in 1957. While cognitive dissonance focuses on the conflict between beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors, emotional dissonance specifically addresses the tension between cognitive beliefs and emotional experiences.

So at the risk of sounding cliché, there truly is a gap between your head and your heart. That means that much of our life with God is a continual invitation to bridge that gap.

One of the most common belief gaps I have both experienced personally and walked with others through has to do with God’s disposition toward us. If we have any semblance of Christian theological foundation, we know in our heads that God is loving, gracious, and kind. We may even be able to pile up a mountain of Scripture that says God delights in us. Yet, in the deepest and most honest places of our hearts, we wonder…

We wonder if God is disappointed in us.

We wonder if God is frustrated with us.

We wonder if God is bored with us.

I had a conversation recently with someone who often experiences extended seasons in which they don’t spend intentional time sitting with God. As they shared, I could sense the disappointment and guilt they carried. When I asked why they didn't simply sit down and talk to God about it, they explained that their avoidance stemmed from feeling that God was annoyed because they didn’t prioritize Him more.

We’ve probably all felt the same fear that God is mad at us, or disappointed with us when we don’t give Him the time and attention He deserves. As a result, somewhere within us is this image of God sitting with His arms folded, giving us a disapproving glare. Or maybe we imagine Him pouting in some sort of passive-aggressive manner, waiting for us to grovel until He forgives us.

There are two problems with this fear: First, it’s simply not true, and second, that fear keeps us from doing the very thing necessary to experience the truth. Let’s tackle the first problem with a familiar story.

A Familiar Story.

In Luke 15, Jesus is sharing a meal with “tax collectors and sinners,” as He was prone to do. While He ate, the religious leaders of His day looked on, judging Him harshly. In ancient Near Eastern culture, sharing a meal was a symbol of acceptance. They couldn’t stomach the fact that Jesus accepted those whom they’d rejected. Jesus’ response to their self-righteousness was to tell a story.

A Disrespectful Son.

A young son demands that his father give him his inheritance. On the off chance it’s lost on us, this was an immensely dishonoring and disrespectful request. In essence, the young son was saying, “I wish you were dead.” That never feels good as a parent.

Despite the disrespect, the father in Jesus’ story appeases his son’s demand.

The son runs off and squanders all his money in what Jesus calls “foolish living.” The Greek word we translate as “foolish” is used elsewhere in Scripture to describe debauchery. In essence, he partied a small fortune away and in very little time, he’s left with nothing. To make matters worse, the land is hit with a famine. So the son goes looking for work, but all he can find is a job tending to pigs. While you and I might look on caring for livestock as necessary and noble work, in his culture, caring for pigs would have been a source of immense shame.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, he comes to his senses. He remembers that even his father’s servants worked in better conditions than this. So he climbs out of the mud, begins rehearsing his groveling apology, and starts the walk of shame home.

A Welcoming Father.

This is where Jesus’ story takes yet another surprising turn. While he was still a long way off from the house, the father sees his son returning home. And his response is amazing. You’d expect, especially in a high honor culture, that the father would at the very least put this kid through a period of passive-aggressive punishment. But there is no punishment. There is no guilting. There is no rubbing his son’s face in what he’d done. Instead, the father sees his son coming, feels compassion for him, runs to him (something shameful for an adult Jewish male), wraps him in his arms, and kisses him. All of this before the son has even opened his mouth to apologize. Even as the son begins reciting his well-rehearsed apology, the father interrupts him and starts planning the celebration.

Now, here’s what this story teaches us:

God’s arms are always open to us.

Each time we sit with Him, He welcomes us with joy, regardless of what burdens we carry, how long it’s been, or what we’ve done—or had done to us. God delights in seeing us, and His arms are always open to embrace us.

The question is, how do we move this truth from a mental concept to a transformative experience? The answer lies in doing the very thing we fear: coming home.

We must see our Heavenly Father, Abba, running toward us.

We must feel His welcoming embrace.

We must hear Him celebrate over us.

Practically, I recommend spending an extended season of time meditating on the father’s response in Luke 15. The practice of Lectio Divina positions you to sit deeply with these words. Listen through the lens of the returning son or daughter. Pay attention to the word, phrase, or image that captures your attention. Consider how these words resonate with your own experiences right now. Listen for what God might be inviting you to do. Honestly express your response to Him.

I know this sounds simple, but its impact is profound. If you’re unfamiliar with Lectio Divina or simply prefer guided practice, then stop by the Modern Monastics podcast this week. I’ve recorded an episode to lead listeners through this text and practice.

Above all, my prayer is that you hear the invitation of your Heavenly Father today—no matter what burdens you carry, how long it’s been since you felt His presence, what you’ve done, or what’s been done to you. God is delighted to see you, and His arms are always open to embrace you. So no matter where you find yourself today, hear the Father's invitation to just come home.