January 16, 2007

Dear Friends,

We played the old song “I’ll be home for Christmas” and imagined in our dreams that we were home as in Christmases past. Like other sons and daughters, we wanted to return home to be welcomed by family and friends. We’ve been in Lithuania now for six years. We sold our home and car in the United States years ago. The many changes in our family and in the churches we know make us wonder where home really is for us. After more than 50 years, my childhood home—the only home I ever knew—was sold this year, as mother is now in a nursing home. Lithuania is a good place for us. It is as much home to us as any other place. For Christmas we stayed in a friend’s apartment in the capital Vilnius and invited a new friend over for dinner on Christmas day. We went to the Lutheran church and enjoyed the Lithuanian carols and heard the story of the birth of Jesus read in Lithuanian. It felt like a good Christmas.

At the start of this New Year we find ourselves in a new place. I’ve been asked to teach an English language class for beginners. It’s very different from the college where I teach. The warden invited me to teach at Praviensikiu II P.N. In Lithuanian “P.N.” stands for Pataisos Namai—a correction facility. Twice a month I spend a morning with a room full of prisoners. The men have the familiar names I know in Lithuania—the same names as my students here at the college. The classroom looks normal, with desks, chairs, and a chalkboard, but the setting is very different. I look at these men and wonder “What have you done? Why are you here? Don’t you know you’ve ruined your lives?” And they look back at me as if to say, “Of course we know what we’ve done. Just look where we are.” I’m older than these fellows. I wonder about their wayward lives. Like an older brother, I want to ask hard questions and give stern advice. But it may be far more loving—and far more demanding—to play a different role.

I have been reading Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son. Nouwen’s story of his spiritual journey resonates with me. Last summer we were in Russia. We visited the Hermitage to see the painting by Rembrandt that forms the focus of Nouwen’s essay. He tells of his spiritual journey from prodigal son to judgmental older brother to becoming a father who welcomes both older and younger son “home.” Nouwen wrote the story of his spiritual journey when he was just about my age, in his late 50s. This has prompted me to think about my vocation and my own search for home. Parker Palmer says we can spend a lifetime searching for our true vocation. He says we should understand our vocation “not as a goal to be achieved but as a gift to be received.” (Now I become myself, 2001.) I once responded to a survey about faith—what Jesus means to me—by saying that I wanted to be embraced like the prodigal son but that I feared I was more like the older brother, always standing in judgment. I’ve had a long life as a son. I need approval. I want to be recognized. I want to figure things out. When I can’t do this, I get very frustrated and angry.

I go to the prison with the idea that I will be a good teacher of English. Becky reminds me that this is not about teaching English. To go to this place and ask no questions is very hard. There’s still the older brother in me. I want to calculate, analyze, and judge.

While living in a community of people with mental handicaps, Nouwen describes how he struggled with the call to become a father who only blesses in endless compassion, asking no questions, expecting nothing in return, and not speculating about their future. In a similar way, I ask myself why I am making these trips to a prison. I’d rather be recognized for being a good teacher of economics at the college. My challenge in this work is being home for others. I’m being pushed from my usual place of being the son who is blessed to becoming the place of blessing. What these men need is a blessing, someone to greet them by name without condemnation and to offer hope to lives that seem to be lying in ruins.

This new place is very stressful. These classes are emotionally draining in ways that I have never experienced before. Discipline will be needed. Nouwen says that for him to become a father required prayer, ceaseless prayer. I think he is right. To become a father—to offer a blessing as the father offers us all his forgiveness and blessing—is very uncomfortable. My comfort zone says, “Continue to be a son.” But the role of the father is joy of welcoming these men home as forgiven and worthy of God’s unconditional love. This is a gift, a true vocation. And this will be quite a homecoming.

Happy New Year!

Eric and Becky Hinderliter

The 2007 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 179