Sermon Title: "The Prodigal"
Date: March 14, 2010
Minister:  Rev. Susan Bjork

Lesson:  Luke 15:11-32

 

Prodigal:  It’s a word I don’t often hear in too many contexts outside of today’s parable that we are considering.  Synonyms for prodigal include: wasteful, reckless, profligate, uncontrolled, lavish, and extravagant.

The word prodigal is often used to describe the younger son in our parable.  It wasn’t a word Jesus used in telling the parable, but it seems to fit.  After all, he was reckless and wasteful with both his material possessions and his familial ties. 

At the beginning of our story, the younger son talks his father into giving him an early inheritance.  I can imagine the original hearers of this parable audibly gasping at this because this request is one of the most disrespectful and taboo things one could do in that culture.  To ask for an early inheritance was to act like dad is already dead.

And if that alone wasn’t bad enough, the younger son immediately liquidated his newly acquired assets because his inheritance would not have come in the form of money, but as land, animals, and other goods that would need to be sold in order to get cash.  So he would have had to sell some of the land that had likely been in the family for generations.

And really, it just gets worse from there because then the younger son takes his new fortune and hits the road.  And not only does he just leave town, but he travels to a “distant land” which Jesus’ hearers would have known as the land of the Gentiles.  So he’s not only cutting off his family ties, but he’s also cutting off his Jewish cultural and religious ties as well.

And then of course, we see how the younger son’s adventure pans out.  For awhile, he probably has fun living fast and loose, but the money is bound to run out at some point and it does.  And then, what is he to do?

Willing to do anything to try to stay alive, the younger son gets a job feeding pigs for a Gentile farmer.  Well, if Jesus’ audience hasn’t yet gotten the picture that this kid has done everything a good Jewish boy shouldn’t do in his life; here is one more poignant example.  Swine are unclean animals under Mosaic Law, so to take a job feeding them and basically live in the pen with them, and then to consider begging for pig feed on top of that was just about as low as one could go.  We’re talking total depravity here.  This kid has hit rock bottom!

And there, in the muck and mire of the pig pen, the text tells us that this boy “came to himself.”  And he starts thinking about the life he left behind: how even the servants in his father’s household always had plenty of good food to eat.

Now I have often wondered if Jesus was suggesting that this young man’s regret and confession there in that pig pen was fueled by an authentic change of heart and remorse for his wrongdoing or by the hunger in his own stomach and the simple fact that he was just flat out of options if he wanted to survive.  Maybe the most likely scenario is that it was some combination of the two.

Well, I’m not the only one to ask this question and scholars seem to be divided on the issue.  But like some, I have come to the conclusion that perhaps the ambiguity surrounding the reasons for the younger son’s choice to return to his father’s house serves to add a layer of meaning to the story because (as we’ll see in a minute) the father doesn’t require any proof of his son’s remorse before welcoming him back.

So the prodigal son returns to the land of his father.  And I can imagine him rehearsing his speech as he makes his way back:  “Dad, I’m so sorry for throwing my life away, for disgracing you, for leaving like I did, for losing everything.  Can you find it in your heart to take me back, not as a son, but as your servant…I’ll do anything just to have a bite to eat and a place to sleep.  Please, I’m begging you!”

But as we all know, the younger son never even gets to beg for forgiveness from his father because as soon his dad sees him coming down the path, his dad, full of compassion, takes off like a shot towards him and when he reaches him, his father hugs him and kisses him.

And it’s only after all this hugging and kissing takes place that the younger son even gets a chance to launch into his confession.  And even then it’s like his father barely hears him and instead calls out to his servants to bring his son’s robe, ring, and sandals (all symbols of his status as this man’s son, not as a servant) and his father instantly reinstates him into the family and starts organizing the party of the century, including a lavish feast of roast beef and all the fixin’s for the whole village.  

And the father’s feelings are clear when he states, “this son of mine was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found.”  What better reason for a party?

Now it would be the understatement of the year to say that the father’s behavior throughout this whole parable is out of character for the typical Jewish patriarch of the time.  Jesus’ audience would have been aghast at the way this guy acted.

First of all, fathers were supposed to be strong and in control of their kids.  They were also supposed to be proud and uphold the family name and have pride of ownership over the family land.  No self-respecting father would let his son talk him into giving him his inheritance early and then let him skip town with it.  And even if all this happened to a father, there is no way he would take his son back into the family after he squandered all his money and came home, let alone run out to meet him on the path before he even apologizes and then throw him a loud welcome home party and invite all the neighbors! 

Here in our era and culture, we can probably understand this father’s feelings and actions, (even if we feel that a little tough love might have been good for this kid).  Jesus’ original audience probably would have been able to relate to the father’s feelings too, but they would have thought his actions were improper at the least, and more than that: foolish, lavish, extravagant, and reckless.

So here is something to consider: (Charlie mentioned this to me earlier this week and I ran across this notion in several commentaries I consulted as well)…consider that perhaps the younger son is not the only prodigal one in this parable.  Perhaps this father is a prodigal father.

This prodigal father is lavish and extravagant and even reckless in the freedom he gives his son to wander off and stray from home; he even willingly finances the trip.  And this prodigal father is just as lavish and extravagant and even reckless in the forgiveness and compassion and love with which he welcomes his son back; he meets him as he heads toward home before an apology can even be spoken and he wastes no time in reclaiming him as his son and throwing him a lavish celebration.

Well there is one in this story who certainly felt that his father’s behavior was reckless.  That person is the older son.  And I don’t know about you, but I’m uncomfortable about how easily I can relate to the older son…but I suspect many of us have been there.

After all, this older son has been working his fingers to the bone, day in and day out on his father’s farm, doing everything he’s supposed to be doing, trying his hardest to be the upstanding young man his society expects him to be.  He wouldn’t have even thought to do the reckless things his younger brother did. 

And then after an exhausting day working out in the field he comes home to find out that his brother is back, a party’s going on, his father is downright giddy, and the most expensive food they had has been cooked for the feast, when he wasn’t even allowed to throw a barbeque for his friends last week.

“It’s not fair!”  He exclaims, “this son of yours, this slacker, who ran away and wasted everything you gave him comes back and all of the sudden it’s party time!  And you wouldn’t even give me a goat!”  “It’s not fair!”

No, it’s not fair.  The older son is right about that because this is not a story about fairness and merit-based allocation.  This is the parable of the prodigal father, a story about compassion that reaches out with reckless abandon, radical forgiveness, and extravagant love.  You see, the love of the prodigal father and our prodigal God is pure grace, free of requirements, free of penance, boundless, and available to all of us, even in our imperfection.

At the end of the story, the older brother is left with a decision to make.  Does he stay outside in the cold, content in his resentment and self-righteousness, angry and unforgiving of his brother and his father? 

Or does the older son do his best to let it go, to suspend his own judgmental tendencies, and find a seed of compassion that might eventually lead to forgiveness and healing?  Does he take that step over the threshold and into the celebration and begin the process of repairing his relationships with his family?  Can he learn to share in his father’s joy for the return of his brother?  His brother may have travelled hundreds of miles to get back home, but for the older son that one step through the doorway is just as arduous a journey.

We aren’t told what decision the older son makes and I think that is because we are invited to ponder the question for ourselves, as was Jesus’ audience.

After all, what brought on this parable was a question from the upstanding, righteous, and religious individuals of Jesus’ day, the Pharisees and scribes, who wanted to know why this rabbi was spending time and even sharing meals with “tax collectors and sinners” and other folks on the fringe of society.

And at the end of this parable, Jesus left them (and all of us) with an invitation to not only reaffirm our familial ties with our prodigal God, but also with our brothers, and sisters, and neighbors and friends as well, including those with whom we have had conflicts and disagreements, differences of opinion, and hurt feelings. 

It is an invitation to be forgiven as well as to forgive others and ourselves and to reconnect with God’s abundant love.

The door is open.  Our prodigal God is throwing a lavish party with good food to which we’re all invited and welcomed home once more.  Shall we go in?  Amen.