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Text: Luke 15: 1-3;11-32 W Laetare
(4th Sunday in Lent) The Lost Son In the
name of him who came to seek and to save the lost, dear friends in Christ: The parable of the prodigal son is certainly
one of the best-known and well-loved of the teachings of our Lord Jesus. But people have suggested that it’s a parable
that’s been misnamed. As I understand
the argument, the thought is that a story like this should be named for its
most remarkable and memorable character – the one who provides the action that
makes up the substance and principle point of the story. And if that’s the case, then that character
isn’t the prodigal son. There just isn’t
anything particularly remarkable about his part of the story. In fact, his is all too common a story: a pampered and rebellious youth who has never
had any real responsibility – not even for himself – who chafes under the
discipline of his parents, and who wants to strike out on his own, to be free
to do what he wants, when he wants, with whomever he wants
– but who can’t afford to do it on
his own, and so begs, borrows, or steals whatever he can from the very folks he
thinks he wants to be free of. And then,
having received it by whatever means, gets as far away as he can from their
“oppressive” supervision and guidance in order to live what he imagines is his
dream. The wild passions of youth,
inexperience, and irresponsibility soon run their course until they are forced
to a grinding halt by the sudden and foolishly unexpected total evaporation of
resources. This is almost always
followed by the reluctant and rather shamefaced retreat to the shelter and
security of home. There’s really
nothing remarkable about it. No, all you
have to do is visit any of our nation’s college or university campuses during
the fall term to see same story playing out in the lives of somewhere between a
fifth and a quarter of the incoming freshman students. The truly
remarkable character in the story, the one who does what’s so surprising and
who makes the story so memorable is the father of the rebellious and wasteful
boy. Here we have a man who has done his
level best to raise his son in a loving and caring way, who applied the
necessary discipline to help develop the boy into a respectable man; but who
despite his best intentions has been disappointed by his son’s hostile,
stubborn spirit, and deeply wounded by his ingratitude. Nevertheless this father is a man whose heart
aches in agony for the return of his lost child; who spends much of the day
watching the approaching road in the hope that today just might be the day that
he’ll come back. He’s a man who, even at
a great distance, can recognize the familiar gait and silhouette of his beloved
son, even if he’s now barely a shadow of his former self: starved, unkempt, and dressed in rags. This is a Father who leaps to his feet in
joy, and runs to meet his wayward child, even while shouting orders to roll out
the red carpet and prepare a feast of celebration; a Father who receives his
lost son with an embrace and a kiss and orders him to be clothed in finery; a
Father who, having been once badly burned, still risks giving his wanton son
the signet ring which carries with it the authority of a co-owner of the
estate. In all these things, it’s the
father’s performance that is truly astonishing.
And for all of these reasons, some people have said that the story
should better be called the parable of the forgiving father, or perhaps the
parable of the father’s love. He’s the
one whose actions make the story. But I
sincerely doubt that the idea will ever become so popular that a change is made
in common usage. In the minds of most
Christians, it will always be the parable of the prodigal son. And the reason for that is because he is the
character with whom we most readily identify.
Every person who has ever come to the crash at the end of sin’s wild
ride and thus been forced to do the soul searching that leads to repentance
recognizes that the prodigal son is “me”.
We all know that I am the one
who takes the inheritance from the Father and squanders it away in fruitless
and unwholesome living; that I’m the
one who reaps the bitter harvest of what I’ve sown; and I’m the one who comes crawling back time and again to the Father
I’ve so deeply offended to beg for his mercy.
And this is
the picture our Heavenly Father wants us to have in mind every time we go to
him to confess our sins. All too often
when we gather here for worship, and begin our service with the confession of
sin, we think of it as merely another liturgical formality. That isn’t the way God looks at it. He wants you to know that he yearns for your
repentant return so that he can embrace you with his grace and forgiveness. He longs for you to see that the world can
only give you a hog slop of indigestible pods, but that you are always welcome
to come and put your feet under his table where you can feast on his generous
gifts of mercy in Christ. But this
morning, as touching as it is, I don’t want to dwell on the story of the
prodigal son. Today, I want to direct
your attention to the story of the Lost son. “Well, isn’t the prodigal son the one who was
lost?” Yes, and “was lost” is the key phrase there.
At the end of the story the younger son has been found and restored ...
but the older brother is standing outside complaining bitterly about his
father’s way of handling family affairs, and he’s making spiteful accusations
against his brother. And even though
he’s never left home, because of his lack of love and his unforgiving attitude
he is just as lost as his brother ever was. It is this
older brother that the parable is really about.
Jesus directed this story to the Pharisees and Scribes who were
complaining about the way Jesus welcomed sinners. And if you’ll take a look at the back of your
bulletin, you’ll see that today’s Gospel reading skips verses four through ten
of this chapter of Luke. The portion
that’s missing is two short parables:
that of the lost sheep, and the lost coin. That’s the shepherd that left the ninety-nine
to find the one that was lost, and the woman who lost one of her ten coins and
just about turned her house upside down to find it. In both of those stories, the searchers find
what they are looking for, and then they throw a little party for their friends
to celebrate the recovery of what they’d lost.
Now, it happens that the value of the thing lost in both of the stories
turns out to be the equivalent of about fifteen days’ wages – and most of us
would agree that a half month’s pay is nothing to sneeze at. The shepherd would have had that much docked
from his wages if he didn’t find the sheep, and the woman would have lost that
much from what was probably her life savings.
So we can understand their joy at recovering what had been lost. And Jesus ends the stories by saying
something to this effect: “Do you think that’s something to celebrate? I tell you that there is more rejoicing in
heaven over one sinner who repents.” Now, the Scribes and Pharisees have listened
to these two stories, and they understand how good it would be to find a lost
sheep or a lost coin. And that’s when
Jesus tells the story of the prodigal son – about the repentant return of a
sinful human, who is worth infinitely more than any coin or lamb. The boy’s
father is beside himself with joy, and he’s pulling out all the stops to
celebrate. And according to Jesus, this
party is a mere shadow of the corresponding celebration among the angels of
heaven over one sinner who comes to repentance.
So it happens that while heaven and earth are rejoicing, the older
brother, like the Scribes and Pharisees, is standing on the outside, his arms
crossed, looking on with anger and disgust: "This
man welcomes sinners and eats with them." And Jesus tells these parables to say, “You
bet I do; and so should you. What’s
wrong with you that you don’t?” And for
those of us who have been faithful, hard working Christians all our lives, or
at least since coming to faith, sometimes tt just doesn’t seem right. With the older brother, something inside of us
would feel offended if suddenly everyone was bending over backward for some
wayward former member or a habitually inactive member who having sown his seed
to the wind suddenly found himself reaping its whirlwind of disaster and then
came rushing back to the church to find relief.
Though we might not give voice our thoughts, our natural reaction would
be to think, “He’s got a lot of nerve coming back in here after what he’s
done. And now he’s getting exactly what
he deserves – I’m be damned if I’m going to lift a finger to help him now. Everybody warned him; but he wouldn’t
listen. Well, it’s just too bad. Let him suffer in the hole he dug for
himself. Besides, what about me? What about the rest of us? We’re the ones who have been keeping the
faith and trying to live God pleasing lives.
And who do you think has been doing all the work to keep this place go
all these years? – It sure wasn’t him.
Who’s been teaching Sunday School, or organizing the fund raisers, or
serving on the council? Who’s been
paying the bills? Me, that’s who. But as soon as he needs something he comes
waltzing back expecting everything to be here for him – even though he never
lifted a finger to support it. No, if
this church is going to help anyone, it should be someone who deserves it.” Sound
vaguely familiar? Have you ever felt
that way? Sadly, that’s not the end of
it because the attitude doesn’t extend only to members who have strayed, but
also to people who’ve never been members at all. And you know who I mean: those people in the community whose standards
of conduct are unacceptable, who have problems “that we just don’t need in this church. They
are not our kind of people”. But
then, “they wouldn’t feel comfortable in
here anyway” – and of course the question is: “Would they not feel
comfortable because their Father wouldn’t welcome them, or because we wouldn’t?” How much of the older brother is in each of
us? And how many of our younger brothers
stay away because of us? Something the people
who heard Jesus tell this story would have understood was a social custom that
would have made it the older brother’s responsibility to be the acting host of
any celebration in his father’s house.
He would have been the one doing most of the work to ensure that guests
– and most especially the guest of honor – were being taken care of. And yet in the story, anger and hostility
prevent the older brother from fulfilling what was expected of him. And what we
really need to ask is, “Where does this hostile attitude the older brother have
come from? What is its source?” Well, first there’s envy. At some level the older brother wishes that
he too could have run off and wasted a fortune indulging himself in every
fleshly pleasure. The daily routine of
being hard working, upright, and responsible lacks excitement. His little brother seems to getting away with
what he dare not do – but deep in his heart he’d like to. So, too, each of us has a secret desire to
run off from our Father and live on the “wild” side. Of course, it’s easy to forget the misery
that the younger brother found at the end of that road. Instead of being envious of those who gamble
with their eternal welfare and follow their lusts into temptation, we should be
grateful that we have been spared the humiliation and agony of starving among
the swine. Another
cause of the older brother’s hostility is his own attitude about his work at
the family’s estate. When the younger
son comes to his senses, he thinks about going back to work as one of his
father’s hired hands – a free man who works for wages: he sees the benefits that flow out of his
father’s house. But the older brother
describes his service for his father as “slavery”. Every day he is well fed, surrounded by
friends and family, and he has all the comforts and blessings of a safe and
secure home; but these he takes for granted:
all he can see is the hard labor and drudgery. And how often do we see our Christian life in
the same way? Filled with God’s
blessings, we nevertheless think, “All I do is work, and I get nothing out of
it”. No one appreciates me or what I do. And then
there’s just plain old pride. The older
brother attributes his hard work and loyalty to his superior character. Never mind that in his heart he too wishes to
run off, and he thinks about his work as an unrelenting burden imposed by a
cruel taskmaster. He thinks it is his
own good sense and high integrity that keeps on the farm. What a sacrifice he’s made! And while we like to think the same thing, we
know it’s a lie – because every Christian knows in his heart that he is also
the prodigal son. All that we have is due to the Father’s
goodness, not because of anything in us.
As Paul writes, Brothers, think of
what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human
standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God
chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak
things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this
world and the despised things – and the things that are not – to nullify the
things that are, so that no one may boast before him. No, we have nothing to boast about, and no
reason for pride. But that
doesn’t stop us from standing outside the party, fuming with anger born of
pride and envy, and wanting to deny our brothers the very mercy we take for
granted for ourselves. And so today our
Father comes out to plead with us. And
it’s interesting that he doesn’t confront us with a reality check. He doesn’t accuse us of the sins we are
committing against him and our younger brother.
Instead, he invites us in with the same heart of forgiveness that he has
for the prodigal son. And he asks us to
be what his love has made us, and conform our way of thinking to his. “My child,” the Father says, “you are always
with me, and everything I have is yours – you live every day in the blood
bought mercy of Christ, and the peace of mind that comes from it. But now look and see what I see: your own brother: lost, helpless, dead in sin, and headed for
Hell ... and now he’s back safe and alive in Christ. It is for this sort of rescue that Christ
died. We have to celebrate and be glad.” May God,
whose mercy is even now conforming us to be like him, give us his heart of
longing to see people come to repentance, so that we can cast off the attitude
of the older brother. May he help us to
see our work in the church not as a thankless burden, but rather as a privilege
that allows us to share in the mission of finding the lost and bringing the
dead to life. And sharing in this
mission, may we also share in the joy of the angels of heaven who celebrate
each and every sinner who comes to repentance.
Soli Deo Gloria! |
