Joyful Return
Text: Luke 15:1-3; 11b-32
There are some stories that become so familiar to us, so common that they begin to lose their impact. In some ways I prefer preaching on the lesser known stories in the Bible, because it is much easier to bring out something that people have never heard before. Yet when it is a story that we’ve all heard, and we’ve all known, it becomes much more difficult to draw out something new. Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves. We know the story. We’ve heard it a thousand times. How can we actually learn anything new from it?
The parable of the prodigal son is a class example of this sort of thing. Even today, where Biblical stories have faded into the background in mainstream culture, people know the basic story line of a wayward son who finds his way home. We look to the change that happened in this person who has come back as the virtue in this story. When we do a so-called direct application, we look at all those people who have “fallen away” folding our arms and frowning saying, “yep, they’ll come back.” We feel vindicated when they do, and we love to say, “I told you so.” After all, within the Christian tradition, we like to emphasize repentance and accountability. We love to say, “Change your ways and come back to God.” But to be honest, I think we’ve pretty much missed the point.
Maybe it’s better to ask “what’s wrong with this picture?”
The story is familiar enough, but perhaps we’ve heard it so many times that we need to hear it again with fresh ears.
We have the story of a father and two sons. The younger one asks his father for his share of the inheritance.
What’s wrong with this picture? How often have you heard of people asking their parents for their share of the inheritance before they’ve died? In effect, the younger one says to his Dad, “Drop dead.” In asking for his share of the inheritance, he demonstrates immense disrespect. He cannot wait until his father is dead in order to get his hands on the loot. At least the son is bold enough to ask him bluntly, but he grabs the money and runs, burning bridges behind him as he goes.
Now, tell me, at this point in time, what are we thinking? This boy has burned his bridges. He has turned his back on his family, wishing them dead, and taken an inheritance which isn’t even rightfully his yet. It’s interesting that there is no resistance from his father. His Dad didn’t have to give him this money, as long as he was still alive, but he does anyway. We’re sitting there with this set up, with arms folded expectantly. We know what’s going to happen, he’s going to pay for what he’s done. Sooner or later, he will come back, and he will receive his comeuppance. “He’ll come back…” we say. We say it as if this is the most important thing to happen in the story, the repentant lost son returning home.
But honestly, it’s not the son’s return that is the central theme of the story. Remember that this story is 20 verses long, and we have the son returning home only halfway through this parable. It’s not the climax at all.
It all it does is trigger the real story, the reaction of the father, and his interaction with the older son. The wayward son does return home after having blown his entire fortune. He comes back unannounced, destitute, and ready to become simply a servant. We are ready for a scene of humble forgiveness, kneeling before his father begging for forgiveness. But Jesus does not give us the scene that we want. The boy’s father sees him at a distance, drops everything, runs out to him and welcomes him home with immense joy. While the younger son has been rehearsing a speech for what might be weeks, the father ignores it and simply welcomes him home without punishment, without demand of repayment, without any conditions whatsoever. He even goes so far as to hold a massive party for this person who effectively spat in his fathers face, and burned all bridges behind him. This parent’s love for his son is simply given to him without condition, regardless of what he had done. Like all of Christ’s parables, it is a glimpse into the kingdom of God.
This is where things get a little off track for us. Where is the “I told you so?” Where is the father asking for some kind of confession of guilt? It isn’t there. This father had every right to send his son back out on his ear. Certainly to those of us who like to believe in a sense of right and wrong, and the balancing scales of justice would at least want some degree of acknowledgement. There is something offensive about this, especially to traditions that emphasize repentance and accountability for our actions. Maybe this is the reason why many of us understand the elder son’s reaction so well.
The oldest son has been out in the field, and didn’t see his younger brother return. At a distance he hears the music and the partying, and asks one of their servants what was happening. When they tell him his brother has returned, and the party is for him, the older brother is angry, and understandably so. They’ve killed the prize of the herd to mark the return of this rebellious kid. The one who told his own father to drop dead and hand over the money… the one who blew it all without an ounce of responsibility, or thinking about the consequences of his actions.
Moreover, his father is now spending HIS money, money out of what is left of his pending inheritance, on a party for this… this… twerp! The older son has every right to be angry, this isn’t fair. But in many ways, we are like the older sibling. We’ve been waiting through this whole story for that kid to get his comeuppance, and at least be disciplined somehow somewhere in the mix. But it doesn’t happen. The wayward son comes home and is embraced with an unconditional love that we find difficult to accept.
The parables that Jesus taught were intended to give us a glimpse into the nature of the kingdom of God. Yet they weren’t intended to give people an intellectual understanding, but draw out a more visceral reaction. Jesus had the unique ability to see the world the way God sees it, and was able to tell stories to communicate this. They always elicited strong reactions, whether it was the inspiring joy of the father, or the abject rage of the older son.
I would hope that somewhere in this, we start to hear this parable in a new way. Instead of it being a story of repentance and accountability, it becomes a display of God’s unconditional love, contrasted with our own anger and refusal to accept it. If we are angered by the unfairness of the younger son’s return, then perhaps we need to learn another lesson about the kingdom of God. Perhaps we need to reassess our own sense of being decent and in good order, and understand that the love of God transcends the barriers and conditions we put on it.
The question then begs, “where do we go from here?” We’ve read this story so many times with the emphasis on turning from our wicked ways and returning home. The dominant theme in sermons for at least the past one hundred years has been precisely that. Yet parables are intentionally deceptive. They draw us in, and then sucker punch us at the end with a powerful message. By knowing that the prodigal is going to get his comeuppance at the end, we identify with the older brother. Yet at the end, it is the older brother, the one who did everything right who needs to change his ways. It is the older brother that needs to understand that the love and grace of God is far more mysterious and boundless than we can know. It is the older brother, who like us, is called to change…
Amen.
There are some stories that become so familiar to us, so common that they begin to lose their impact. In some ways I prefer preaching on the lesser known stories in the Bible, because it is much easier to bring out something that people have never heard before. Yet when it is a story that we’ve all heard, and we’ve all known, it becomes much more difficult to draw out something new. Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves. We know the story. We’ve heard it a thousand times. How can we actually learn anything new from it?
The parable of the prodigal son is a class example of this sort of thing. Even today, where Biblical stories have faded into the background in mainstream culture, people know the basic story line of a wayward son who finds his way home. We look to the change that happened in this person who has come back as the virtue in this story. When we do a so-called direct application, we look at all those people who have “fallen away” folding our arms and frowning saying, “yep, they’ll come back.” We feel vindicated when they do, and we love to say, “I told you so.” After all, within the Christian tradition, we like to emphasize repentance and accountability. We love to say, “Change your ways and come back to God.” But to be honest, I think we’ve pretty much missed the point.
Maybe it’s better to ask “what’s wrong with this picture?”
The story is familiar enough, but perhaps we’ve heard it so many times that we need to hear it again with fresh ears.
We have the story of a father and two sons. The younger one asks his father for his share of the inheritance.
What’s wrong with this picture? How often have you heard of people asking their parents for their share of the inheritance before they’ve died? In effect, the younger one says to his Dad, “Drop dead.” In asking for his share of the inheritance, he demonstrates immense disrespect. He cannot wait until his father is dead in order to get his hands on the loot. At least the son is bold enough to ask him bluntly, but he grabs the money and runs, burning bridges behind him as he goes.
Now, tell me, at this point in time, what are we thinking? This boy has burned his bridges. He has turned his back on his family, wishing them dead, and taken an inheritance which isn’t even rightfully his yet. It’s interesting that there is no resistance from his father. His Dad didn’t have to give him this money, as long as he was still alive, but he does anyway. We’re sitting there with this set up, with arms folded expectantly. We know what’s going to happen, he’s going to pay for what he’s done. Sooner or later, he will come back, and he will receive his comeuppance. “He’ll come back…” we say. We say it as if this is the most important thing to happen in the story, the repentant lost son returning home.
But honestly, it’s not the son’s return that is the central theme of the story. Remember that this story is 20 verses long, and we have the son returning home only halfway through this parable. It’s not the climax at all.
It all it does is trigger the real story, the reaction of the father, and his interaction with the older son. The wayward son does return home after having blown his entire fortune. He comes back unannounced, destitute, and ready to become simply a servant. We are ready for a scene of humble forgiveness, kneeling before his father begging for forgiveness. But Jesus does not give us the scene that we want. The boy’s father sees him at a distance, drops everything, runs out to him and welcomes him home with immense joy. While the younger son has been rehearsing a speech for what might be weeks, the father ignores it and simply welcomes him home without punishment, without demand of repayment, without any conditions whatsoever. He even goes so far as to hold a massive party for this person who effectively spat in his fathers face, and burned all bridges behind him. This parent’s love for his son is simply given to him without condition, regardless of what he had done. Like all of Christ’s parables, it is a glimpse into the kingdom of God.
This is where things get a little off track for us. Where is the “I told you so?” Where is the father asking for some kind of confession of guilt? It isn’t there. This father had every right to send his son back out on his ear. Certainly to those of us who like to believe in a sense of right and wrong, and the balancing scales of justice would at least want some degree of acknowledgement. There is something offensive about this, especially to traditions that emphasize repentance and accountability for our actions. Maybe this is the reason why many of us understand the elder son’s reaction so well.
The oldest son has been out in the field, and didn’t see his younger brother return. At a distance he hears the music and the partying, and asks one of their servants what was happening. When they tell him his brother has returned, and the party is for him, the older brother is angry, and understandably so. They’ve killed the prize of the herd to mark the return of this rebellious kid. The one who told his own father to drop dead and hand over the money… the one who blew it all without an ounce of responsibility, or thinking about the consequences of his actions.
Moreover, his father is now spending HIS money, money out of what is left of his pending inheritance, on a party for this… this… twerp! The older son has every right to be angry, this isn’t fair. But in many ways, we are like the older sibling. We’ve been waiting through this whole story for that kid to get his comeuppance, and at least be disciplined somehow somewhere in the mix. But it doesn’t happen. The wayward son comes home and is embraced with an unconditional love that we find difficult to accept.
The parables that Jesus taught were intended to give us a glimpse into the nature of the kingdom of God. Yet they weren’t intended to give people an intellectual understanding, but draw out a more visceral reaction. Jesus had the unique ability to see the world the way God sees it, and was able to tell stories to communicate this. They always elicited strong reactions, whether it was the inspiring joy of the father, or the abject rage of the older son.
I would hope that somewhere in this, we start to hear this parable in a new way. Instead of it being a story of repentance and accountability, it becomes a display of God’s unconditional love, contrasted with our own anger and refusal to accept it. If we are angered by the unfairness of the younger son’s return, then perhaps we need to learn another lesson about the kingdom of God. Perhaps we need to reassess our own sense of being decent and in good order, and understand that the love of God transcends the barriers and conditions we put on it.
The question then begs, “where do we go from here?” We’ve read this story so many times with the emphasis on turning from our wicked ways and returning home. The dominant theme in sermons for at least the past one hundred years has been precisely that. Yet parables are intentionally deceptive. They draw us in, and then sucker punch us at the end with a powerful message. By knowing that the prodigal is going to get his comeuppance at the end, we identify with the older brother. Yet at the end, it is the older brother, the one who did everything right who needs to change his ways. It is the older brother that needs to understand that the love and grace of God is far more mysterious and boundless than we can know. It is the older brother, who like us, is called to change…
Amen.
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