Last week I began closing out the summer by beginning a series on the parables. As you know, the parables are these stories Jesus told His disciples during his Earthly ministry. Each one of the parables illuminates for us some part of Jesus’ wisdom and guidance in a way that is manifest to us.

Jesus, of course, knowing our psychological make up, knew that we humans tend to be heavily influenced by stories. Stories captivate our minds in a manner in which raw numbers, data or logic simply do not. It’s quite a testament to our own ability to self-deceive but, believe it or not, facts quite frequently fail to convince or convict many people. Ah, stories on the other hand, cannot on only convince and convict people, so too can they spur them to action.

Take for example the studies which show that the percentage of people who would give $5 to feed 500 children in a faraway country is far less that the percent of people who would give $5 to feed one child in that same country. What changes? Well, the story. With the 500, all people are given are the details. With the one child, they’re told about Junie, a precocious 5-year-old boy who loves playing soccer, or something like that. Do you see? People are far more inclined to take action when there is context through a story.

So, it isn’t surprising, as I’ve said, that, when Jesus really, really wants to make a big, big point, he generally tells us these matters within the confines of a parable. A story.

Last week, we examined one of, if not the most, well-known parables of Jesus Christ. Coming to us from the 15^th chapter of the Gospel of Luke, I speak of course of the parable of the prodigal son.

There’s a story most of us connect with quite deeply, don’t we? Told any number of ways, the story of betrayal, debauchery, despair and forgiveness captivates us no matter how it’s told.

Last week we learned that, contra Thomas Wolfe, we can go home again, fully, completely, not as just as servants, sullied by the sin we’ve debased ourselves with but as rather as fully-beloved children.

And it reminded me of a tale that I’d heard at least twice before. It’s an old pastor’s story. If you’ve heard it before, bear with me, I still think it’s worth listening to.

The story goes like this. Imagine a train steaming through hilly terrain. On board sits a Methodist pastor, looking forward to meeting his new congregation. This was in the days before air or automotive travel. Times when those itinerant Methodist pastors would only see their new church for the first time on the day that they moved into the parsonage beside it.

So there, on that train sat that Methodist pastor, himself more than a little anxious about the next few weeks of his life.

Have you ever noticed when you’re struggling with a particular emotion, how much more cognizant of it in other people?

Well, this pastor looks up from the Bible he’d been reading as the hours slipped by on board the train and sees a younger man, wringing his hands, staring intently out the train’s window.

Something makes that Methodist pastor ask the young man, “Son, are you all right?”

“Well” he says “A few years ago I left home. It wasn’t the nicest of departures. I told my mom and my dad that I never wanted to see them again. To tell you the truth, pastor,” he says, “I don’t really remember what started the fight between my dad and me.

But when it happened, I was old enough to know I just didn’t want to live in his house any longer. So, I said some terrible things to my dad. And then I left. Up and walked out of that house. I left behind a note saying that, come hell or high water, I’d never ever come back home.”

“But then, a few months ago I got so homesick that I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I think the feeling had been there all along but I’d just ignored it.