Where Am I?
Sermon
Living Vertically
Gospel Sermons For Lent/Easter Cycle C
I suppose we are all a little bit nervous about the prospect of a sermon on a Bible story as familiar and sometimes as overworked as the Parable of the Prodigal Son. "What can I possibly say that hasn't been said before?" And I know what's going through your minds: "Are we going to be subjected to the same old sermon yet another time?" Confronting a familiar Bible passage like this mid-Lent really serves to address the discipline of reading Scripture as part of our devotional life, particularly passages that are very familiar. On the one hand there is always the danger of mentally turning off: "Oh, I've heard that before." On the other hand, there is the occupational hazard of preachers of recognizing a passage as a familiar one and so looking for some bizarre twist or particle of Bible trivia that will spark it up and make it interesting. Neither is appropriate. We always come to the Scriptures with a sense of expectation that if we really attend to what is there, there will be some word from God for us. So in the middle of Lent, what is there here for us?
A good place to start is always the context, and if we look at Luke 15 we see that there are three parables about things lost and found. Verses 3-7 is the "story of the lost sheep," which of course is not about sheep at all but about the shepherd who seeks the sheep, finds it, and restores it to the fold. Then verses 8-10 is the "story of the lost coin," but again it is not really a story about money, but rather about a woman who loses the coin and who turns her house upside down until she finds it. When it is found, she is so joyful that she can't just keep it to herself, so she invites her friends in to celebrate. Jesus says, that the angels in heaven rejoice that way over one lost sinner who repents.
So when we get to 15:11 in its own context, we are naturally expecting another story about the recovery of the lost, and we are not disappointed, for the story begins, "There was a man who had two sons," and sure enough one of them is soon lost. Obviously, then, at least some of the focus of this parable will be on the father and how he handles the fact that his son has been lost. But this does not turn out to be a story exclusively about the "loser." After all the "losee" is neither an inanimate object nor a dumb animal (I have had bad experiences with sheep). And there are other people involved: a brother and a group of servants.
The father in the parable clearly represents some divine attributes, just as the shepherd and the woman in the earlier parables personify God's search for the lost. What are some of the characteristics we see in this father? On the one hand, we can say that the father was really the cause of the younger son's problems: had he not given the younger son the inheritance ahead of time there would be no story. But on the other hand, the father is both fair-minded and generous. It was unusual to distribute an inheritance before one's death, but it was not unheard of. The father apparently yielded to his son's request for his share of the wealth before it was really due him out of simple kindness. Assuming that these were the father's only two sons, the share given to the younger would have been one third of his total worth, so the father was giving up a significant source of income and security, but not the whole farm.
We know that human motivations are complex, but if there were any factors other than kindness and generosity at work, Jesus doesn't mention them. Manipulation, threats, and cunning are all present in some Gospel parables, but not here. If the father had second thoughts about the wisdom of his action, we are not told. If he worried about his son's freedom, it did not affect his course of action. He simply gave his son resources and independence. I must confess finding it tiresome the way that some people attempt to blame God for their personal problems or the nation's problems or the world's problems. This is the equivalent of saying that the father was to blame for his son's problems because of his generosity. Of course it is true, but do we really want it any other way? By allowing humankind free-will, individuality, and creativity, God has allowed the possibility of abandoning the good, misusing our time and talent, and being caught in a web of evil. That is the flip side of generosity and freedom. But would any of us really prefer a world of "fail safe" determinism, some kind of lock-step double predestination?
It is this same kind and generous father who sees the failed son from afar and welcomes him home, refusing to allow him to feel humiliation and act out his shame. His exultation over the return to life of this "dead" son and his use of all the symbolic behavior -- the fatted calf, the ring, the new garments, and the great banquet -- all remind us of how much he loved and cared for this son. Providing freedom and independence can sometimes be construed as a lack of caring, as simply "turning one out," throwing them in the deep end of life and hoping they don't drown. Throughout Scripture we are reminded that it is God's desire that people be set free, not that they be set adrift.
Here is where heavy-handed comparisons between this and the foregoing two parables of lost and found break down. The sheep and the coin were naturally recovered solely through the efforts of the shepherd and the woman, as would be wholly appropriate with an animal and an inanimate object. But the younger son had to undergo a personal transformation before he could be found: in an important sense he had to "find himself." While it is tempting to read sinister or disrespectful motivations into his request for his inheritance, there is really no reason to: he simply wanted to be on his own, to be independent, to make his own way. He was thinking of himself, to be sure, but in a way that we Americans tend to applaud: he had get-up-and-go, entrepreneurial spirit.
After he got-up-and-went things did not pan out; he found himself at the point of ultimate degradation for a Jew: amongst the swine. Verse 17 says that he "came to himself" using one of Luke's medical phrases that suggests a person returning to his right mind after illness or delirium. He recognized that he was lost and determined that he wanted to return home. This reminds us of an important dynamic of salvation, whether in the ultimate sense of salvation from sin or salvation from a destructive behavior or addiction, or salvation from an unwholesome relationship: no one can force salvation upon someone or manipulate another into salvation. Each one must come to terms with one's own need for salvation. There was no seventeenth chorus of "Just As I Am" as the father tried to force the son to come back; but when the son recovered his senses the father was waiting.
Now the older brother becomes obvious, or is it obnoxious? He cannot contain his jealously and resentment over the luxurious treatment given his wayfaring brother. I totally understand his feelings: he had been the good boy, and sometimes the one who stays at home and does what is expected is overlooked and taken for granted. But the father's obvious concern for maintaining their relationship and his assurance that "all that is mine is yours" seems to make that unlikely. The more we look at the older brother the more we realize that he too seems to have wandered from his father not in physical proximity, but in attitude and outlook. Like his younger brother, he too seems to be thinking only of himself, but he covers it more effectively with a thin veneer of piety and respect.
If his jealousy of the joyful reception is somewhat understandable, bitter self-righteousness is less so. His accusation that the brother had "devoured your living with harlots" is surprising since the story doesn't mention this salacious detail. He was self-pitying: "You never gave me a kid." Jealously, meanness, self-righteousness, and self-pity all come from an inwardly directed vision that judges all things from the perspective of how what is happening is going to affect me. It is selfishness masked as piety.
The elder brother has many descendants in American society. He may be a leader: a church officer, a highly visible volunteer, a key citizen who lets us know what she or he has sacrificed on behalf of the group. They are always around, doing good things, so we are surprised when their narrow and inwardly-focused vision slips out. Suddenly some breaking point arrives and the bitterness pours out. They seem to need to think ill of others, to point out their flaws and weaknesses, and to dwell on the problems others are causing them. There is no patience with those who make mistakes they feel they have avoided. The elder brother personifies a legalistic attitude, whether that of the Pharisees or of ourselves: an attitude that does things that are perceived as correct -- "These many years I have served you" -- without the proper motivation. The brother was right in a way, but so what? He overlooked what was really important: "... this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found." Proper conduct without devotion of the heart to God and persons easily degenerates into legalism.
There is an often overlooked but important group in this parable: the servants of the household of the father and sons. They are no Greek chorus, but they are specifically mentioned in three places. First, it is the son's reminiscence of how these servants were treated in his father's house that helped him "come to his senses." They had better than hog-slop to eat and their ordinary day-to-day routine was preferable to his life of adventure gone sour. The second time they appear is to follow the father's directions to prepare the celebration for the returned son. Then it is one of the servants who explains what is happening to the elder brother, much to his dismay.
Our American (Protestant?) approach to things tends to be so intensely individualistic and personal that we immediately hone in on the prodigal -- the individual gone wrong. We force ourselves to look at the father and brother but forget about the role the anonymous group plays. How many times we have read testimonials of persons who have "been brought to themselves" by the simple, inconspicuous often unconscious witness of the people of God, by the individual whose life of quiet faith was observed from a distance and recognized as better than the slop that was being accepted.
We are reminded that as Christians our role is always to be like that of these servants of facilitating the return of the prodigal by faithfully going about our tasks without resentment or special recognition: doing God's will, making ready the celebration. This makes it doubly unfortunate when we find ourselves aligned with the sour grapes of the older brother instead of making ready the feast to welcome back the penitent and forgiven.
It is a servant who explains to the older son what the feasting is about, even though he doesn't want to hear. One of the inescapable teachings of Scripture is that we believers are called upon to tell what God is doing, to tell the story of grace and freedom, of redemption, forgiveness, and acceptance, even when those who have wrapped themselves in a cloak of self-righteousness do not want to hear. It is these inconspicuous servants at each point in the story who allow the action to proceed by faithful living, by faithful obedience, and by faithful proclamation.
Maybe there is more to this story than some of us remember. It has a great deal to say about human emotions and dynamics, far beyond the folly and repentance of the younger son. There is the generosity, the love, and the hope of the father; the resentment and selfishness of the older brother; and the quiet but crucial lives of the servants. This gives us much to ponder during Lent as we consider our motivations and emotions. Have we really come to terms with who we are and our relationship with God? Where am I in this story? Am I lost, settling for some hog slop rather than the good things my father wants me to enjoy? Am I playing the role of the older brother, doing right things for the wrong reason, full of suspicion and resentment? Or am I playing the role of faithful servant of the Father: inconspicuous perhaps, but having an influence far beyond what I may realize? These are good questions for the middle of Lent.
A good place to start is always the context, and if we look at Luke 15 we see that there are three parables about things lost and found. Verses 3-7 is the "story of the lost sheep," which of course is not about sheep at all but about the shepherd who seeks the sheep, finds it, and restores it to the fold. Then verses 8-10 is the "story of the lost coin," but again it is not really a story about money, but rather about a woman who loses the coin and who turns her house upside down until she finds it. When it is found, she is so joyful that she can't just keep it to herself, so she invites her friends in to celebrate. Jesus says, that the angels in heaven rejoice that way over one lost sinner who repents.
So when we get to 15:11 in its own context, we are naturally expecting another story about the recovery of the lost, and we are not disappointed, for the story begins, "There was a man who had two sons," and sure enough one of them is soon lost. Obviously, then, at least some of the focus of this parable will be on the father and how he handles the fact that his son has been lost. But this does not turn out to be a story exclusively about the "loser." After all the "losee" is neither an inanimate object nor a dumb animal (I have had bad experiences with sheep). And there are other people involved: a brother and a group of servants.
The father in the parable clearly represents some divine attributes, just as the shepherd and the woman in the earlier parables personify God's search for the lost. What are some of the characteristics we see in this father? On the one hand, we can say that the father was really the cause of the younger son's problems: had he not given the younger son the inheritance ahead of time there would be no story. But on the other hand, the father is both fair-minded and generous. It was unusual to distribute an inheritance before one's death, but it was not unheard of. The father apparently yielded to his son's request for his share of the wealth before it was really due him out of simple kindness. Assuming that these were the father's only two sons, the share given to the younger would have been one third of his total worth, so the father was giving up a significant source of income and security, but not the whole farm.
We know that human motivations are complex, but if there were any factors other than kindness and generosity at work, Jesus doesn't mention them. Manipulation, threats, and cunning are all present in some Gospel parables, but not here. If the father had second thoughts about the wisdom of his action, we are not told. If he worried about his son's freedom, it did not affect his course of action. He simply gave his son resources and independence. I must confess finding it tiresome the way that some people attempt to blame God for their personal problems or the nation's problems or the world's problems. This is the equivalent of saying that the father was to blame for his son's problems because of his generosity. Of course it is true, but do we really want it any other way? By allowing humankind free-will, individuality, and creativity, God has allowed the possibility of abandoning the good, misusing our time and talent, and being caught in a web of evil. That is the flip side of generosity and freedom. But would any of us really prefer a world of "fail safe" determinism, some kind of lock-step double predestination?
It is this same kind and generous father who sees the failed son from afar and welcomes him home, refusing to allow him to feel humiliation and act out his shame. His exultation over the return to life of this "dead" son and his use of all the symbolic behavior -- the fatted calf, the ring, the new garments, and the great banquet -- all remind us of how much he loved and cared for this son. Providing freedom and independence can sometimes be construed as a lack of caring, as simply "turning one out," throwing them in the deep end of life and hoping they don't drown. Throughout Scripture we are reminded that it is God's desire that people be set free, not that they be set adrift.
Here is where heavy-handed comparisons between this and the foregoing two parables of lost and found break down. The sheep and the coin were naturally recovered solely through the efforts of the shepherd and the woman, as would be wholly appropriate with an animal and an inanimate object. But the younger son had to undergo a personal transformation before he could be found: in an important sense he had to "find himself." While it is tempting to read sinister or disrespectful motivations into his request for his inheritance, there is really no reason to: he simply wanted to be on his own, to be independent, to make his own way. He was thinking of himself, to be sure, but in a way that we Americans tend to applaud: he had get-up-and-go, entrepreneurial spirit.
After he got-up-and-went things did not pan out; he found himself at the point of ultimate degradation for a Jew: amongst the swine. Verse 17 says that he "came to himself" using one of Luke's medical phrases that suggests a person returning to his right mind after illness or delirium. He recognized that he was lost and determined that he wanted to return home. This reminds us of an important dynamic of salvation, whether in the ultimate sense of salvation from sin or salvation from a destructive behavior or addiction, or salvation from an unwholesome relationship: no one can force salvation upon someone or manipulate another into salvation. Each one must come to terms with one's own need for salvation. There was no seventeenth chorus of "Just As I Am" as the father tried to force the son to come back; but when the son recovered his senses the father was waiting.
Now the older brother becomes obvious, or is it obnoxious? He cannot contain his jealously and resentment over the luxurious treatment given his wayfaring brother. I totally understand his feelings: he had been the good boy, and sometimes the one who stays at home and does what is expected is overlooked and taken for granted. But the father's obvious concern for maintaining their relationship and his assurance that "all that is mine is yours" seems to make that unlikely. The more we look at the older brother the more we realize that he too seems to have wandered from his father not in physical proximity, but in attitude and outlook. Like his younger brother, he too seems to be thinking only of himself, but he covers it more effectively with a thin veneer of piety and respect.
If his jealousy of the joyful reception is somewhat understandable, bitter self-righteousness is less so. His accusation that the brother had "devoured your living with harlots" is surprising since the story doesn't mention this salacious detail. He was self-pitying: "You never gave me a kid." Jealously, meanness, self-righteousness, and self-pity all come from an inwardly directed vision that judges all things from the perspective of how what is happening is going to affect me. It is selfishness masked as piety.
The elder brother has many descendants in American society. He may be a leader: a church officer, a highly visible volunteer, a key citizen who lets us know what she or he has sacrificed on behalf of the group. They are always around, doing good things, so we are surprised when their narrow and inwardly-focused vision slips out. Suddenly some breaking point arrives and the bitterness pours out. They seem to need to think ill of others, to point out their flaws and weaknesses, and to dwell on the problems others are causing them. There is no patience with those who make mistakes they feel they have avoided. The elder brother personifies a legalistic attitude, whether that of the Pharisees or of ourselves: an attitude that does things that are perceived as correct -- "These many years I have served you" -- without the proper motivation. The brother was right in a way, but so what? He overlooked what was really important: "... this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found." Proper conduct without devotion of the heart to God and persons easily degenerates into legalism.
There is an often overlooked but important group in this parable: the servants of the household of the father and sons. They are no Greek chorus, but they are specifically mentioned in three places. First, it is the son's reminiscence of how these servants were treated in his father's house that helped him "come to his senses." They had better than hog-slop to eat and their ordinary day-to-day routine was preferable to his life of adventure gone sour. The second time they appear is to follow the father's directions to prepare the celebration for the returned son. Then it is one of the servants who explains what is happening to the elder brother, much to his dismay.
Our American (Protestant?) approach to things tends to be so intensely individualistic and personal that we immediately hone in on the prodigal -- the individual gone wrong. We force ourselves to look at the father and brother but forget about the role the anonymous group plays. How many times we have read testimonials of persons who have "been brought to themselves" by the simple, inconspicuous often unconscious witness of the people of God, by the individual whose life of quiet faith was observed from a distance and recognized as better than the slop that was being accepted.
We are reminded that as Christians our role is always to be like that of these servants of facilitating the return of the prodigal by faithfully going about our tasks without resentment or special recognition: doing God's will, making ready the celebration. This makes it doubly unfortunate when we find ourselves aligned with the sour grapes of the older brother instead of making ready the feast to welcome back the penitent and forgiven.
It is a servant who explains to the older son what the feasting is about, even though he doesn't want to hear. One of the inescapable teachings of Scripture is that we believers are called upon to tell what God is doing, to tell the story of grace and freedom, of redemption, forgiveness, and acceptance, even when those who have wrapped themselves in a cloak of self-righteousness do not want to hear. It is these inconspicuous servants at each point in the story who allow the action to proceed by faithful living, by faithful obedience, and by faithful proclamation.
Maybe there is more to this story than some of us remember. It has a great deal to say about human emotions and dynamics, far beyond the folly and repentance of the younger son. There is the generosity, the love, and the hope of the father; the resentment and selfishness of the older brother; and the quiet but crucial lives of the servants. This gives us much to ponder during Lent as we consider our motivations and emotions. Have we really come to terms with who we are and our relationship with God? Where am I in this story? Am I lost, settling for some hog slop rather than the good things my father wants me to enjoy? Am I playing the role of the older brother, doing right things for the wrong reason, full of suspicion and resentment? Or am I playing the role of faithful servant of the Father: inconspicuous perhaps, but having an influence far beyond what I may realize? These are good questions for the middle of Lent.
