4 LENT, YEAR C
SERMON PREACHED AT CHRIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH, NORWAY, MAINE
THE REV. ANNE STANLEY
14 MARCH 2010
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Luke 15:1-32
If the story of the “prodigal” son isn’t the most popular of Jesus’ stories, then it’s surely right up there near the top of the list.
All week long, when I’ve mentioned to people what our gospel reading is for this Sunday, I’ve heard, “Oh that’s my favorite……I love that story!”
How does a preacher preach on a story that people know so well that they have strong feelings about it? What can be added to the sum-total of people’s insights?
Fortunately for preachers, and for all of us, really, Jesus’ stories are open-ended. There’s always something more to hear, more to check out. Jesus’ stories keep us thinking. When they’re done, they’re not quite finished. Not really. And Luke is masterful in the way he writes this story.
Actually, Luke is masterful in how he wraps this story in with the stories preceding it. Chapter 15 starts off with the Scribes and the Pharisees grumbling because Jesus spends his time with sinners. He even sits down to eat with them. He crosses social and religious and economic boundaries. Who does he think he is, anyway?
Luke’s Jesus answers the complainers by telling three stories in a row: the story of the lost sheep, and the shepherd looks far and wide until he finds it; the lost coin, and the woman sweeps and sweeps until she finds it; and the lost son, who, when he comes back home, receives a hero’s welcome from his father.
The lost are found.
In this third story, the younger son gets himself lost. He takes his share of his inheritance even before his poor father dies and he leaves home. When his inheritance runs out, he comes to his senses and returns home, memorizing a little “Father, I have sinned” speech along the way.
The father risks his dignity and dashes out, robes flying, to greet his son in the road. Running, given his status and at his age! He orders a party, new clothes, new shoes and a ring. “My son was lost, and now he’s home!” The younger son gave part of his “Father, I have sinned” speech, but his father pays it no heed.
The elder son, meanwhile, working hard as usual, hears all the commotion. And he’s resentful, not because his younger brother has come home. Not because his brother has used up his money and now that he’s back will be living off the rest of the estate, which is rightfully reserved for him. No, Son#1 is resentful because of the party. “Hey, don’t forget me! I’ve been doing my elder son duty all this time and you, Dad, have taken me for granted. No fair!”
All week long, as soon as I tell them about this Sunday’s gospel, people have been quick to identify with one or the other of the sons.
Here’s a Son #2 story. I remember that Rhys Williams, our beloved priest friend, once told me about a time when he was very young. He didn’t take his inheritance and run away, but he did sneak into his father’s bedroom and climbed up to the top of the bureau. He took his father’s antique watch, just to look at it; but it dropped. And it broke into pieces. Rhys came to his little-boy senses. He picked up the bits took them to his father in dread. But lo, Rhys’ father picked up his son and held him on his lap. Just held him.
That’s a Son #2 story. Most people, though, identify with the elder son. Most people remember resentment.
I was the first born, too. And I remember my own resentment of my sister who seemed to get off easy. She learned to sew, she had more time to read than I did. I had to mow the lawn (my father had hernias) and I never developed the knack of complaining quietly.
I have a friend who also was the first born. She remembers the time she was crossing the street with her younger siblings and their parents. One of the little ones suddenly ran ahead. Who got spanked? You guessed it. And my friend had not been told she was to be her sister’s keeper that day AND the parents were right there!
The American Heritage Dictionary defines “prodigal” as recklessly wasteful, extravagant, profuse in giving. Who’s the prodigal one here? The younger son was recklessly wasteful, certainly. But as the women’s bible study group concluded last week, wasn’t the father also reckless in giving away what he had? First in giving part of his estate away early and then in throwing a lavish party, no questions asked? With no time behind the woodshed for confession and repentance first, to make sure Son #2 was really sincere? There was just extravagant love in celebrating because the son, as good as dead, had been found.
Maybe, said the Bible group, the parable should be called “The Prodigal Father!” After all, who is the real hero here?
So our attention is drawn to the father. This is where the story really gets juicy.
Both sons were lost, weren’t they? The wayward younger son as well as the first son, lost in his own bitterness. The father loved them both, recklessly. Although, as my crossing-the-street friend says, maybe the father was lost for awhile, too, forgetting to let the elder, faithful, hard-working first-born son know how much he loved him. Maybe the father, too, “came to his senses” in this story.
We know that this prodigal father had no desire to punish either son, no passion for moralizing or teaching either one a lesson. He wanted only to welcome them and bless them and celebrate their unity. “How good and pleasant it is for brothers to dwell in unity,” says Psalm 133.
The Scribes and the Pharisees most likely would have snarled at this story. As “elder brothers,” they’d have burned at seeing the father throwing a party for sinners. The sinners listening to this story would have loved it! “You tell those Pharisees, Jesus!!”
But Jesus manages to turn the tables, as he always does, even on the sinners, like the younger son with new clothes and sandals and a ring on his finger. The father wants the bitter brothers to come in, too. Out of the shadows. The Scribes and the Pharisees are part of the celebration. Or they can be, if they drop their murmuring and resentment and come in. So the jubilant sinners, chomping on fatted calf-burgers and licking chocolate frosting off their fingers at the banquet don’t have the last laugh after all.
All are welcome. All of them. All of us.
How we respond is up to us. God’s love does not depend on our response. We can watch from afar, or we can make a leap of faith and walk through the open door to the banquet. To paraphrase Henri Nouwen, we can’t be “found” by just sitting around, waiting. We need to take some action. The younger son began the process by turning for home. The elder son, out there in the back yard, was just steps away from the party.
We do know, I hope, that we are as found and as loved as they were, no matter which son we resemble. All we need to do is take the leap of faith and come to the table.
But there’s one more thing. We are quick to identify with the younger son or the elder son. That’s easy. But can we identify with the father, too? Can we be that parent, lavishly extending welcome and forgiveness to whomever?
We end today where we began, knowing that there are still questions in this story. We don’t know if the younger son matured, finally. We don’t know if the elder son stepped up and joined the party. We don’t know how the story ends. Because---and this is the big thing--- we are called to identify with that father, too. Not merely to take leaps of faith into the celebration as sons and daughters. We are called to be that parent. To be prodigal parents and reckless hosts. To be welcoming forgivers. That’s the big unknown. The story’s ending depends on us.