I suppose that the most painful thing I’ve had to learn about the church is that, although there are a lot of wonderful folk about, there are an awful lot who still haven’t quite figured out the message. There are people in the church, all the way from bishops to bums, who still think that God’s love is reserved only for certain folk and those certain folk are always most certainly them.

For two thousand years, these people have sat around and come up with all kinds of weird ways to prove their point.

"You have to believe like us."

"You have to go to our church."

"You have to give this much."

"You have to be perfect like us."

"You have to be just like us for God to love you just like God loves us."

These, dear friend, are lies and the story that Jesus told so long ago, proves it.

Remember how the son squandered everything his Dad had given him? Remember how he ended up living with the pigs and wondering what had become of his life? No one needed to tell him that he’d screwed up.

I suspect that for me there is no more beautiful scene in all of the Bible than when I picture that kid returning home. Remember what his father did?

Well, let me tell you what he didn’t do.

He didn’t lecture his son about the evils of his ways. He didn’t wag his finger and say, "I told you so." He didn’t say, "Before you can come inside you have to confess your sin and take a bath and read this book from cover to cover."

None of that.

What he did was run down the road as soon as his eyes caught hold of his son’s return. He ran down the road and opened up his arms and gave him the biggest bear hug in Palestine and a sloppy wet kiss to boot!

In that slobbery scene, I see God. I really do.