Once upon a time, a young man bent his pastor’s ear, telling him all the horrible things that had happened to him in his last church. And, truth be told, some really horrible things had happened in his last church. Some of them were shameful. Some were downright scandalous. Some were a reproach to the very name of Christ. Naturally, they grew worse with the telling.
Patiently, the pastor listened for some time with only an occasional comment or question. When it appeared that the young man had exhausted the issue, the pastor began to tell a story. Slowly, and with great deliberation, he began:
“Once upon a time,” he said, “a particularly severe father raised two boys. His demands were impossible, and his rebukes excessive. On more than a few occasions, each boy had experienced the unbridled wrath of their father. But the younger of the two boys was by nature especially mischievous, and therefore the younger often bore the brunt of his father’s wrath. Not to say that the older escaped the father’s demeaning chastisement. Both boys suffered much by their father. And each had their own personal difficulties dealing with the numerous oppressions of their home.”
“For instance,” the pastor continued, “the father often took the boys golfing. It was especially during their golf outings that the father’s tirades would get out of control. He would get in the boy’s faces, taunt them, scream at them, trying to get in their head. He would berate them, sometimes shame them, and make them go back and redo a shot that they did wrong. Needless to say, the boys did not always look forward to golf trips.”
“When the boys were fully-grown, the older hated his father, and refused to speak to him, even with an uncivil tone. He often passed the evenings telling tales of his childhood, and his stories naturally brought a response of shock and horror from those who listened. Encouraged by his friends, he started a blog, which he used to catalogue the many wrongs his father had carried out against him. His readers were unanimous in their agreement. ‘What kind of dad would do that to his son. You call that love? That isn’t what a father should do.’ And they would go on and on.”
“Meanwhile,” the pastor continued, “the younger brother also grew up. And in the end, the younger was much different from his brother. He regularly visited his father, honored him, loved him, and thanked God for him. Somehow, he managed to forgive his father of all his wrongs. In fact, the younger of the two often said that it was his father’s toughness that made him what he was.”
The pastor gravely turned to the young man seated before him. “What do you think was the difference between the two young men?” he asked. The young man thought for a moment, and then answered, “Well, I would say first of all that the older son must have been more sensitive. Maybe he had a more refined sense of justice. Obviously the younger son learned to ignore things. They say that oblivion can be a defense mechanism.”
The pastor smiled inwardly. “What you say about the two boys could be so. Who knows. But the real difference between them was something simpler than that. At the time they were suffering the wrongs, they had their own struggles dealing with it. But after it was done and they were out from under their father, then what made the difference in how they dealt with it?”
The young man thought for a few more minutes, and then finally gave up. “I guess I can’t explain it,” he said. The pastor smiled. “The difference was a thankful heart. People can complain about anything. People will complain about a steak dinner. Nothing ever tastes quite right until you’ve given thanks for it.”
