Prodigal Son

When Sarah Darling dropped some change into a homeless man's cup, she didn't notice anything amiss. But she quickly realized that her diamond engagement ring was missing. Turns out, panhandler Billy Ray Harris noticed it in his cup right away, and held onto it. When Sarah came back the next day, he had it waiting for her.

As a reward for his honesty, Sarah gave him all the cash she had on her, and then set up a site for receiving donations from strangers wanting to help reward Harris' honesty. The site has received an overwhelming response. Along with the money, Harris is getting legal and financial counsel to help him use it well.

And that’s not all: After he made a TV appearance about the incident, his family members, who had not been able to find him for 16 years and had heard rumors that he was dead, were able to track him down. They were happily reunited, and Harris is now working on his relationship with them.

Harris said, “When I think of the past, I think, thank God it’s over. I mean, I feel human now.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

Sometimes, honesty pays off, but sometimes our honesty may only be for our "Father who sees in secret." (Matt. 6:1-4)

She is the most famous celebrity whose name you don’t know: the actress who plays Flo in all those Progressive commercials. Yes, she is a real person.

As told in the New York Times, Flo (aka Stephanie Courtney) was once a struggling comedian trying to make it big, sending in tapes of her performances to Saturday Night Live. Driving to failed auditions in a car that didn’t go in reverse—and unable to pay to get it fixed. Courtney eventually landed a small role for an insurance ad spot as a cashier.

Fast forward to today and her comedy career is still non-existent, but she makes millions of dollars a year doing what she never wanted to do for a living. Courtney may have more zeros at the end of her pay check, but her story is far from unique. Youthful aspirations so often erode into some version of settling with the hand life (and God?) has dealt you.

NYT reporter Caity Weaver asked, “Who has a better job than you?” Courtney said, “There are times when I ask myself that. The miserable me who didn’t get to audition for ‘S.N.L.’ never would have known, how good life could be when she was denied what she wanted. I hope that’s coming through. I’m screaming it in your face.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

Courtney’s story suggests something profound: it is a difficult wisdom to learn, as the Prodigal Son did, that there is something far more meaningful than the glory of what we might want for our lives. The faith that holds on to Christ simultaneously lets go of everything else.

In the early 1950s teenage Lyle Dorsett and his family moved to Birmingham from Kansas City, Missouri. They were outsiders, often labeled Yankees by peers. But one summer evening in 1953, Dorsett was walking to his house after work and decided to take a shortcut through the campus of then-Howard College (now Samford University).

He was immediately intrigued by the sight he saw: a large tent on the football field featuring a magnetic preacher. As Dorsett drew near, he could hear evangelist Eddie Martin preaching on the parable of the prodigal son, calling other prodigals to come home. Dorsett said, “I knew I was the prodigal and … needed to come home.”

Martin asked those in attendance to return the next evening. Dorsett came early, and this time was seated near the front. When the call came, “the evangelist led me through a sinner’s prayer. I confessed my need for forgiveness. While being led in prayer, I strongly felt the presence of Jesus Christ. I sensed his love and forgiveness as well as his call to preach the gospel.”

Shortly thereafter, Dorsett and his parents joined a local Baptist church. However, 18 months later, Dorsett’s family moved back to Kansas City. On his return, gradually he drifted. During his time in college, he embraced a materialistic worldview. He received a Ph.D. in history but despite professional success, he began to drink heavily and became an alcoholic. His wife, Mary, who became a Christian after their marriage, began to pray.

One evening, he stormed out of the house after Mary asked him not to drink around the children. He found a bar and drank until closing. While driving up a winding mountain road, he stopped at an overlook and blacked out. The next morning, he woke up on a dirt road at the bottom of a mountain next to a cemetery not having any memory of the drive.

Dorsett cried out to God, “Lord, if you are there, please help me.” At that moment, he recognized that the same presence he had met in Birmingham was with him in the car and loved him. The prodigal son had finally, truly come home. He said, “Although I made countless mistakes, the Lord never gave up on me.”

God then called Dorsett to full-time ministry, ordination in the Anglican Church, and eventually to the Billy Graham Chair of Evangelism at Beeson Divinity School, Samford University, where he had first heard God’s call to preach.

He concludes,

Over the years God has proved to be a gentle Comforter—like when Mary underwent massive surgery for cancer, and when our 10-year-old daughter died unexpectedly. Certainly, the most humbling and reassuring lesson is his persistence in drawing me to himself. And it was he who pursued me and sustained the relationship when I strayed in ignorant sheeplike fashion, doubted his existence, and then like the Prodigal Son deliberately moved to the far country. And it is all grace—unearned, undeserved, unrepayable grace.

Wayward teenage years and a surprise pregnancy had Christine Scheller fearing she had lost her salvation. She shares her story in an issue of CT magazine:

I had just been arrested for smoking hash in the drive-through of a bank while the driver was trying to cash a stolen check. I was getting high while committing bank fraud. That’s how out-of-my-mind stupid I was at age 16.

After being arrested Christine landed in a juvenile shelter. Free of the drugs that had clouded her thinking, she realized her life was going nowhere fast. After a month at the shelter, she went to stay with a family who offered transitional housing to wayward teenagers.

Pat and Carl were born-again Christians. Their Christianity didn’t seem focused on rules and right doctrine like some of the Baptists Christine knew and she began to consider the gospel.

One day I found myself kneeling in prayer on the opposite side of the coffee table from Pat while Jim Bakker preached on TV. Pat raised her hand toward me and began praying. I was thrown backwards into the couch by an invisible force. With tears streaming down my face, I raised myself up and surrendered my life to Jesus.

Christine was admitted to Eastern Mennonite University (EMU). It was there that she was introduced to the terrifying idea that she could lose her newfound salvation if she died with unconfessed sin or didn’t persevere in following Jesus. She said, “I was entirely unprepared for the challenge this Arminian doctrine posed to my softly Reformed faith. I grew seriously anxious about my eternal security.”

She prayed, “God, I don’t even know if I’m really a Christian. But I know that if I am, you didn’t save me to leave me in this pit.” She had broken off a brief relationship with her boyfriend when she found out she was pregnant. The first person she told outside her immediate family was Jeff. He was an old friend who had become a Christian in prison after one too many drug busts.

When my son was two months old, Jeff came to visit. Over the next few months, he started falling in love with my baby and me. The first time Jeff kissed me; I knew I would marry him. Never before had I felt so unconditionally loved and cherished by a man, or so challenged by another person’s radical faith.

I told Jeff I didn’t know if I was really a Christian. He explained the grace of God in such a way that I finally understood that I could not make myself good enough to earn forgiveness. “The Bible says Jesus paid the price for all your sin—past, present, and future. Nothing can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus.” The words finally sank in. They were coming from a trustworthy friend whose background was similar to my own.

As Jesus taught, those who have been forgiven much, love much. I’ve been forgiven much—both before and after my conversion—and I never forget it.

Editor’s Note: Christine Scheller is an award-winning journalist and CT contributor. She and Jeff will celebrate 30 years of marriage this year.

Almost five years to the day after he returned home the first time, the prodigal son emptied his bank account, packed a few changes of clothes, and snuck off for the faraway country. Again.

The first year back he was just glad to be home.

The second year was toughest; he still couldn’t get (rid of) … the shame that chewed away at his soul.

The third year, things leveled out a little. He started feeling more at home, back in synch with his former life.

The fourth year, certain things began to irk him. His old itches longed to be scratched.

And the fifth year, it happened. All the former allurements came knocking, rapping their knuckles on his heart’s front door.

And so the prodigal relapsed. Re-sinned. Re-destroyed his life.

You know him—or her. Maybe it’s your best friend. Maybe it's your child. Or maybe it’s you. That thing you swore you’d never do again, you did it last night. You left the straight and narrow. Prodigals have a way of finding themselves right back in the pigsty.

In that moment … heaven and hell contend within you. Hell shouts, “Now you’ve gone and done it. You stupid piece of garbage. You’re a lost, lonely, hopeless cause. You’re a pig. And that’s all you’ll ever be.”

But there is another voice. It’s the voice of heaven, the familiar lilt of a Dad’s voice, echoing down the long hallways of hope … down to the deepest, darkest caverns of your pain. He doesn’t accuse. He doesn’t berate. He only mouths two simple words … of heaven’s redemptive love: “Come Home.”

The second time, the third time, the thousandth time, he will sprint … to meet you down the street, throw his arms around you, kiss you, and command that the fattened calf be barbecued. The Father is standing on the porch, his hand shading the sun from his eyes, scanning the horizon for the familiar image of the one who will ever remain, his precious, beloved child. “Come home.”

Three years ago, Debra Mejeur and her husband Steven took Lola on a trip to Elk Grove, a suburb of Chicago, to visit friends. Then they received a call from neighbors that Lola was running down the street after escaping from the chain link fence and commenced what would turn into a lengthy search for her.

For two months, Debra and her husband drove three hours to Elk Grove every weekend to look for Lola, but the trips became costly and the trips slowed down. It was emotionally and physically exhausting. Debra said, “It was just devastating. I hated leaving Elk Grove because it just felt like I was abandoning her.”

Debra held out hope for finding Lola. She joined every Elk Grove neighborhood group she could find and would post every year on the anniversary she went missing asking if anyone had seen her. She even sought advice from a professional dog rescuer. She hoped that if someone out there had taken Lola in that they would care for her as much as she did.

Debra’s wish was granted and a couple in Glendale Heights did look after Lola. They noticed her in the woods and set out food and water for her for a year. Finally, they gained her trust enough to put a leash on her and take her to the DuPage County Animal Services. Debra received a text saying her pet Lola’s microchip had been detected and to contact Animal Services in Illinois. Debra said, “They are amazing people who did a very selfless act.”

In the yard in front of the animal shelter Lola was timid at first and hid behind the vet. She then gave Debra a few sniffs and a big lick on the forehead before her tail started wagging wildly and she burrowed into Debra for a hug. When she noticed Debra’s husband, Lola bounded over to him knocking him to the ground with excitement.

Lola was in good health with no noticeable signs of injury or trauma, although she had lost 10 pounds. Debra said, “I wish she could talk because I would probably give her a little lecture, too. ‘You’re not supposed to run away. Don’t do it again.’”

Possible Preaching Angle:

1) Identity in Christ; Security in Christ – Debra’s missing dog was found because it was marked with a microchip. Believers can never be lost because we are marked with God’s seal of ownership (Eph. 1:13). 2) Lost; Lostness - We have also wandered away from God, but he never stops searching for us. (Luke 19:10)

In a YouTube video, a young boy comes across a small sheep stuck headfirst in a long narrow trench which has been dug beside a road. The boy uses his hands and a belt around the leg of the sheep to rescue the trapped sheep.

Immediately on being set free, the sheep takes a few stumbling steps, and then a couple of joyful leaps … only to land headfirst back in the same trench further along the road. The audio then records then sheep baaing helplessly after finding itself right back in the same condition.

Some of the comments that accompany the video make the application very easy:

Duarte Santo – “The story of my life”

Browill9 – “That’s why Jesus called us sheep”

Tim Walker – “Me and Jesus on a regular basis!”

victor carjan – “Jesus said in John 5:14 … Behold, thou art made whole: sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee.”

Keefe Ulmschneider – “This is a great representation of what believers do after Christ Jesus drags us out of the ditch, we fall/ jump right back in and need to be saved again. Wretched sinners we are ...”

You can watch the 29 second video here.

In his book Less is More, pastor Kai Nilsen writes:

On my way to a Bible study class for teens, two friends and I decided to add a little spice to the gathering. We stopped in a local drug store, picked up a few cap guns, tiny fake-metal bearings to toss like grenades across the table at unsuspecting classmates (probably girls), and other small weaponry of chaos. The problem was we had no money to pay. No problem, we thought. A drug store with all this merchandise won’t miss a few insignificant knick-knacks. The store manager, who met us at the door, had other ideas, including calling the local police who chauffeured us to the police station, filed their report, and called our parents.

I’m not sure what was worse, facing the police or facing my mom. (Actually, I know what was worse!) To each I pleaded my case. “I was just the look-out guy. Yes, I was part of it, but I didn’t take anything!” It was a convincing argument to everyone but myself. The tiny bag of fake metal bearings buried in my pocket screamed a different story. “Liar! Thief!” They knew. I knew.

When I returned home, I snuck off to our garage, tucked many yards behind the house, extracted that tiny bag from my pocket and flung it into the darkest corner hoping, praying that I would never have to confront it again. Yet, I didn’t tell anyone for years about the fact that every time I walked past that part of my garage the tiny voice persisted, “Liar! Thief!”

Is there anything you need to say to God today or to someone else to clear that tiny voice from your head and replace it with God’s voice? Hear the truth from God: “You are forgiven. You are loved. Welcome home, again.”

In 2002, Joe Manganiello was a brand-new face in Hollywood, His first screen test landed him the role of Flash Thompson in Spider-Man 3 (the biggest film of the year). That’s the kind of thing that never happens. He had all the luck, incredible talent, great looks, and unfortunately, a serious drinking problem.

In an interview with Men’s Health’s Molly Knight, Manganiello said;

There was a point where I really thought I was broken beyond the point of being able to be fixed. Drinking was a way for me not to have to deal with me. And I think that acting was a way for me to not have to be me either. So, I could go onstage and not be me, come offstage and go to the bar and not be me. Rinse and repeat. I needed to really look in the mirror and get honest with myself about the man that I wasn’t becoming.

His identity crisis was serious enough that he didn’t act for four years. To earn a living, he took side jobs as a DJ, as a roadie for the band Goldfinger, and on the back of a masonry truck doing deliveries and demolitions. He credits eight hours a day of jackhammering with turning his life around. “Hard physical labor is the best work you can do for your soul, even if it’s gardening.”

When the magazine asked him what being a man meant to him now, his answer is as traditional as it gets. “It’s the same as it’s always been. You protect, number one, and take care of women, children, animals, the planet. You tell the truth. If I hurt somebody, I apologize immediately ... Also, I hold the door open for my wife."

For over a decade, Greyhound Lines has partnered with the National Runaway Safeline--an organization that seeks to keep runaway and homeless youth safe--to reunite young people with their families and guardians. Since 1995, the Home Free program has helped over 16,000 families by providing free bus tickets, according to the National Runaway Safeline.

To get a free ticket home, a person between the ages of 12 and 21 must call the NRS helpline (1-800-RUNAWAY). They also must be named on a runaway report and be willing to return to their family. The family or guardian also needs to agree to receive them at home. If the individual hoping to return home is under the age of 15, Home Free also provides a free ticket for the child's parent or guardian.

Before a young person begins their journey home, National Runaway Safeline works with them and their guardians to create a plan for their return. It also locates resources in the community that will be able to provide support once they are settled. After the family is reunited, the group says it follows up to make sure the family member arrived home safely and provides additional resources.

What does it take to raise children who will continue in the faith as adults? A study from the Barna Group set out to study what they call “resilient disciples,” that is, 18-29-year olds who attend church regularly, trust in the Bible, are personally committed to Jesus, and with a desire to influence broader society.

They found that “resilient disciples” make up only 10% of young people who grew up Christian. Another 38% attend church regularly, but do not meet core beliefs and behaviors associated with being an engaged disciple. 30% identify as Christian, but no longer attend church, and 22% have left the faith altogether.

Here are the five traits of a “resilient disciple”:

1. They experience intimacy with Jesus

2. They practice cultural discernment

3. They have meaningful spiritual relationships

4. They engage in counter-cultural mission

5. They have a sense of calling in their life and work

A San Diego father (who wants to be known as “Frank”) believed his son, a homeless, heroin addict living on the streets in Denver, was on the verge of dying. Frank contacted Chris Conner, one of Denver's leading homeless advocates. Conner has helped parents find their lost children, but this was different. Conner said, “I've never had a parent who necessarily went this far to descend into homelessness themselves.” Conner connected Frank with Pastor Jerry Herships, whose church serves lunch to homeless people in a Denver park across from the state capitol.

Frank described the moment he met his son on the street in Denver:

He has no idea that I'm walking towards him. I can see that he can't stand up without the support of a building. He would appear drunk to most people. To his dad, though, I know from past experience, sadly he's on heroin—heavy. I go up to him, and he starts to turn his back on me. I don't even care. I just grab him and squeeze him as hard as I can.

For a week, Frank became his son’s shadow, wandering the streets during the day and sleeping on the banks of a river at night. He grew a beard, ate hand-out sandwiches during the day, and swatted away the rats at night. Meanwhile, his son got sick, in and out of the hospital, stealing to buy more drugs. At one point, Frank told his son, “If you die, your mom and dad die with you. We might still be here breathing. But make no mistake, we'll be dead inside.”

When asked why he did it, Frank said, “The only thing I could think of was just go there, be with him and love him. Show him how much his family loves him.”

Summer: a perfect time to send postcards, right? Apparently Europol, the European law enforcement agency, thinks so. They've been publishing "postcards" addressed to some of their most-wanted criminals, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase "wish you were here!"

Why postcards? According to an NPR report, Europol is hoping that "increased awareness will lead to more arrests." The cards can be found on the Europe's Most Wanted Fugitives website, decorated with colorful illustrations (often with an ominous pair of handcuffs included somewhere in them). The messages read as tongue-in-cheek pleas for criminals to return: "Dear Marko, the waters of the Adriatic are missing you. Come sail with us for a trip you will never forget! Regards, the Police."

In addition to reading the postcards, visitors to the Europe's Most Wanted Fugitives page can find a pictures of the fugitives and read more about them. Those targeted by the cards "are accused of serious crimes in 21 European Union countries and are believed to be outside of the countries where they allegedly committed the crimes," writes Merrit Kennedy for NPR. And while "it's highly implausible that the fugitives will answer the fawning messages from law enforcement," such methods have proved successful in the past: "European authorities say crowdsourcing has become increasingly important as a law-enforcement tool."

Potential Preaching Angles: Let's take a second (or many!) to be thankful that God reaches out to us not with ominous messages, threatening us to return or else—but rather with patience and love, drawing us back to himself.

Uber, the global ride-hailing service which has become a popular alternative to taxis in many cities, recently released some humorous data on items that riders accidentally leave behind in Uber vehicles after they arrive at their destinations. And, as any good technology company should, the analysts seem to have examined the data from every angle to extract any useful information.

For example, the most common items lost include cell phones, rings, keys and wallets. The "most forgetful" U.S. city is Los Angeles. Sundays saw the largest average spike in lost wedding dresses, and Tuesdays saw the largest average increase in lost bathing suits. The list rounds off with some of the "most unique" items left behind in Uber vehicles, including: valuable Nordic walking poles, a lobster, corn hole boards, a potted plant, elf cut out, Nintendo, money bag, and a violin.

Potential Preaching Angles: One might wonder what the accumulated data from a "Lost & Found Index" from God's perspective might look like, and who might top the list. Liars? Cheaters? Thieves? Executives? Public servants? Widows? Teachers? Children? Paul's words could round off the list for each one of us: "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst."

Anton Pilipa of Toronto suffers from mental illness. Feeling he wanted his space, he moved into his own apartment. A few short days later, without any notice, he went missing. No one could find him. His brother Stefan said, "There isn't much you can do when someone disappears. Try posters. Call the Police. Drive around the neighborhood. And then a lot of waiting. And frustration."

Every day Stefan would awaken to the thought—where are you? Are you dead or alive? His brother searched to find him but could not. Mostly, he simply waited and hoped.

Over a period of five years, the wandering Anton made his way to Brazil, travelling mostly on foot. Somehow while there, he attracted the attention of the police. A female police officer named Helen, who spoke English, spent two hours with him and managed to get Anton's first name and country of origin. The police then took him to a mental health center for treatment. He began living in a mental institution—though he had escaped twice. He was resigned to living in a room with 30 people, being medicated for his mental illness and eating poorly.

Then, the police officer, Helen, searched the internet using "Anton" and "Canada" in the search window. She was looking for family connections on social media. Then, she got a hit. A friend of Anton's brother, Stefan, had re-posted a picture of Anton on Twitter. The police officer then contacted the friend, who contacted Stefan. Immediately, the police officer emailed Stefan with a picture and a question, "Is this your brother?"

Stefan was stunned. He flew to Brazil to meet his lost brother of five years. When they met, it was both a happy and sad moment. Anton was in very rough shape having lived on the road for five years while battling mental illness. The brothers embraced. Anton is now home in Toronto and on the road to recovery.

The lonely artist had made up his mind. Today was the day he would end it all for good. He climbed the tropically wooded hill behind his Tahitian hut, more alone than he had ever been. The famous painter and atheist Paul Gauguin had failed to achieve meaningful success as a painter in his lifetime. He'd abandoned his wife and children, alienated his friends, and headed to Tahiti in search of the authentic life untouched by the poisons of conventionality, greed, and power. Now he had come to the end.

Just days before, he'd completed one last painting, intended as his final testament to the world. He'd described its philosophical ambition to a friend as "comparable to that of the gospel." It was a massive, three-panel work depicting Tahitian women of all life phases. Moving from right to left, it showed the beginning of life in an infant and the end of life in a sad, old woman—and various stages between. In English it was titled: Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?

And now, having finished his greatest work, Gauguin walked up the wooded hill and swallowed all the arsenic in the tin. But he ingested too much arsenic, causing him to violently vomit the poison before it could take effect. He managed to find his way back down the hill, and would die a few years later at the age of 54.

But those three questions—Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?—didn't come from Gauguin. They came from a Christian leader in France named Bishop Felix Dupanloup who drew from a much larger story than himself. Gauguin had studied under this dynamic Christian leader during most of his teen years. Dupanloup's introduction to Christianity instilled in Gauguin the practice of pondering these basic questions about God, our selves, and others. Dupanloup was convinced that once these three questions get into our hearts and minds they cannot be erased—not completely anyway, particularly in this young student. No matter how far he roamed (or ran) from God—no matter how he tried to shake his past—the passionate bishop's three questions, those he taught as more fundamental than all the others, could not leave the tormented and seemingly unyielding Gauguin. They became the substance of his final testament.

The last soldier to die in the Great War was an American, twenty-three-year-old Henry Gunther, a private with the American Expeditionary Force in France. He was killed at 10:59 A.M., November 11, 1918, one minute before the Armistice went into effect.

Gunther's squad, part of the 79th Infantry Division, encountered a roadblock of German machine guns near the village of Chaumont-devant-Damvillers. Against the orders of his sergeant, he charged the guns with his bayonet. German soldiers, aware of the Armistice, tried to wave him off. But Gunther kept coming and was gunned down; he died instantly. His divisional record states: "Almost as he fell, the gunfire died away and an appalling silence prevailed."

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) Salvation—We have peace with God through Christ but we still live like we're at war with God. Lay down your arms and enjoy Christ's victory and offer of reconciliation; (2) Conflict—Are we picking needless battles or picking battles in a way that leads to more conflict rather than living as peacemakers?

It was 1917, on a piercing winter night in Greenwich Village. Huddled in the back room of a bar, known as the Hell Hole, was a Bohemian gathering of artists, intellectuals, and misfits. Among them were the country's premiere playwright, Eugene O'Neill, and the left-wing journalist Dorothy Day, his close friend, confidante, and drinking buddy. Maybe it was the booze, maybe because the hour was way past closing time, but O'Neill seemed unusually melancholy.

He started quoting from memory the Francis Thompson poem "The Hound of Heaven," which describes our common flight from the God who lovingly pursues us:

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years …
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him …

Dorothy Day had never heard O'Neill speak of this poem before, and it sobered her, sobered everyone. Cigarette smoke curled upward and hung in the air like wispy apparitions …. Everyone was hushed and still.

Shortly after leaving the Hell Hole, Day and O'Neill parted company, not to see each other again for a decade. He wrote of a God who failed to make good on his promises, of sin and shame and the terror of death. He won four Pulitzers and the Nobel Prize in Literature, but happiness eluded him.

She married twice, conceived twice, aborted twice, and finally bore a daughter by a man she never married. In December 1927, she surrendered to the relentless pursuit of heaven's Hound and entered the Catholic Church. She lived a life of poverty, with no income and no security, caring for the homeless on the streets not far from the Hell Hole. She wrote of a merciful God.

Dorothy Day never stopped praying for her friend, who had opened her eyes with the words he spoke. "It is one of those poems," she wrote in her autobiography, "that awakens the soul, recalls to it the fact that God is its destiny."

We don't know if Eugene O'Neill's soul was ever so awakened. We do know that while he lay on his deathbed in Boston in 1953, Dorothy Day was with him. She summoned a priest to his side. Keeping vigil, she prayed. She prayed he would at last unclench his fist and grasp the hand that had been reaching out to him for so many years, hoping to hear the words he recited in a barroom on that blustery winter night: "Rise, clasp My hand, and come!"

After graduating from college, Bethany W. started a year-long volunteer program with Emmaus Ministries, a Chicago-based outreach to young men involved in prostitution. Many of the young men come from profoundly broken homes and become lost in a lifestyle of drugs, sex, and violence. According to Emmaus' website, the volunteers "build relationships of trust with these men" so they can "help them get off the streets and cultivate a life-transforming relationship with Jesus Christ." During her one-year program at Emmaus, Bethany often doubted if she was making a difference for Christ. But then she had the following experience with a young man named Devan:

Another staff member and I went to court with Devan in a neighboring city where he had been arrested for shoplifting a year ago. He stood to face several more years in prison, since this was a repeated offense. Since his arrest, however, through Christ's love he has made tremendous strides. He has gotten clean from alcohol, joined a halfway house, and become disciplined about finding jobs and improving his life.

After both lawyers presented their arguments, the judge turned to Devan and started asking him a barrage of questions: "How will you keep this from happening again? What is your support network?" And finally she pointedly asked, "And by the way, how were you transported to this court room?"

He slowly turned around and looked back at me and the other staff worker, the only other people in the courtroom, and said, "These two workers from Emmaus Ministries brought me here." In the end, the judge gave Devan probation, as long as he continues making progress on his goals. Although Devan has initiated positive changes in his life, I also can't help but wonder the way God has worked in his life through our consistent presence, truth and love.