You may click here to listen to the sermon as it was delivered at the 9:00 AM service, or click here to listen to the 10:45 AM version of this sermon. (The later version is from the text below.)

St. Charles Episcopal Church
Sunday, March 14, 2010 – Lent 4C
Joshua 5:9-12, Psalm 32, 2 Corinthians 5:16-21, Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
The Rev. Elizabeth Meade

There's one danger in preaching on such familiar Bible passage such as The Prodigal Son, which we just heard read. There's a danger that some of us may say, "Oh yeah. I know this story," and tune out. But today I'm going to ask that we let go of all our preconceived ideas about what the moral of the story is - and listen to it with fresh ears.

Jesus starts his story by saying that the younger of two sons is asking his father for his inheritance early, so that he can leave the old farm and go off to seek adventure elsewhere. Contrary to the traditions of the day, in which the son's request would have been either ignored or met with a beating, the father in the parable acquiesced and divided his estate between them. Notice that. The words say, the father "divided his property between them." That means that the father, in order to let his second son go, had to give both sons their inheritances, liquidating his own estate to divide it. So the Father now has nothing left - and is dependent on the goodwill of his older son to survive. He has sacrificed all he had.

So, the young son goes off. Predictably, the text tells us, he squanders his money. Who knows what he spent it on: Rounds of drinks for everybody in the bars? Fast women? New clothing to fit his new image? Suffice it to say he squandered all his money - and there was none left. And then, Jesus tells the Pharisees, there was a famine - a BAD famine. So let's imagine that for a minute. The son has run out of money, is far from home, and no longer able to support the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. I wonder whether his new found friends abandoned him when his money ran out? Probably.

Destitute and hungry - the young man tries to find a job. Well, there's a famine, so unemployment is high, and farm jobs were few and far between. So he takes anything - anything to get a meal, and he ends up slopping pigs. Listen to v. 16: "He would have gladly filled himself with the pods [or the corn cobs] the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything." Hungry. Slopping unclean animals. No friends, no money, no way out of his poverty. We can only imagine how the young man must have felt. Well, maybe we can. Probably not unlike the families in St. Charles who've had to move into Lazarus House this year as their homes were foreclosed upon. Or the people sleeping on Lower Wacker Drive this winter. Imagine their fear. Their uncertainty. Their embarrassment. Safe to say, the son probably felt pretty panicky.

So what does he do? He hatches a plan. He thinks to himself, "How many of my father's hired hands have more bread than they can use - and here I am starving to death." So he decides, to go home to his father and ask for forgiveness. He practices his speech: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands." Do we know whether this is a sincere plan - or just a way to get out of a terrible situation? The passage leaves it up to us to discern whether he's sincere in the words he practices or not. Only God knows his heart. And Only God knows ours.

Well-rehearsed, the young man returns to the family farm. Now here's where we need to drop all our pre-conceived notions of what follows. We may say, "Okay, so he goes home, says all this, and his father forgives him," but notice that's not what happens. At this point, the text focuses solely on the father. Can you picture him sitting there? Perhaps on his porch - staring out at the long dusty road? And then he suddenly spots his younger son waaaay down at the end, coming home. Does he sit there - determined to make his son eat crow? No, quite the opposite. The text tells us that the Father was filled with compassion, and ran to his son, and threw his arms around him and kissed him. The son starts off on his practiced speech, but all he gets out are the words, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be your son." He never had to ask for a place in the barn with the hired hands because his father interrupted him, suddenly springing into action. He calls to the servants, and asks them to bring the best robe and sandals, and a ring, and to prepare a great feast. BOOM! He's welcomed back with love, and the best robe, and a feast!

Don't we feel relieved when our apologies are accepted? Sure, sometimes we may have to listen to the lecture that reminds us of all we have done wrong before forgiveness is bestowed, but that's in human relationships. In the case of the prodigal son, there were no lectures - just a celebration. That's the way it is with God. All we have to do is return and ask for forgiveness, and we are enthusiastically received into the household of God. Each week, we say the general confession. We tell God that we are sinners and ask God's forgiveness. The question we need to think about is this: Is that a rote prayer for us or it is an authentic one? Do we prepare before church and during the week - assessing our sins, and taking stock? Do we put any thought into our confession at all - or just come in here, kneel, and get it over with? In other words, are we confessing out of desperation or out of sincerity? Only GOD knows.

And even if we are faithful and sincere in our confessions, are there any sins we withhold from God? Any sins that we dare not ask God to forgive? We often do that when we squelch memories of long bygone events, and hope that God has forgotten them. But God doesn't, and they still eat at us because they are still there - unresolved. Remember this: there is nothing that God cannot forgive when we turn to Him. There is nothing too offensive, nothing too shameful, too abhorrent that God cannot and will not forgive.

Lent is the season that gives us the opportunity to try and come to terms with that truth. It's a time when we're reminded that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. That Christ has paid the price for us. I find that unimaginably wonderful - and sometimes hard to believe because we don't deserve it. We don't earn it. We just have it. Talk about GRACE!

It would be easy to end on that high note, but the Gospel has one more message that is critical to our understanding of the grace of forgiveness. What about the times we find it difficult to forgive each other, as we have been forgiven by God? Let's face it, there are wounds that we aren't ready to forgive: wounds that divide and torment us, and some that we actually want to avenge. But Jesus' parable addresses our unhealed wounds as well, in the face of the older brother.

Imagine - everybody is at the party. You hear the music, smell the sweet aroma of the calf roasting over the fire, listen to the joyful conversations. Everybody is there. It feels like a celebration. Joy filled. Well, if you're the older son, walking in from a hard day at work in the fields you might not feel that way. Envision yourself there. Are you the son? Or are you a handmaid watching from the porch? He's probably crossing the driveway from the barn to the house. He sees the fire and the calf on the spit, and a gleeful servant trotting across the driveway, and he asks him what's going on. And the servant says, "Your brother has come! Your dad's giving a party because he's safely home."

Whoa! We get a pretty good idea that the older brother is just a bit upset. He refuses to enter the house. Have you ever stood there? Have you come into a meeting with great ideas and had a committee shoot you down? Or seen someone at your job who does none of the work get all of the praise? Or maybe you've experienced pangs of jealousy when a sibling got more of your mother's love than you did. It's an awful, but very human feeling; that feeling of exclusion, of jealousy, of unfairness.

The point of this passage is to acknowledge the fact that those feelings, too, are very common human feelings. We've all felt like we were on the outside looking in. We've all felt separated. We've all felt the pain that comes when we think we've been overlooked, or abused, or left out, or treated unfairly. So there's a stand off. The party continues on, and the older son refuses to come into the house. (As an eldest, I can relate to this one!) In his stubbornness, he makes a choice to remain separated. He chooses to stay angry. He's created his own little hell, and dwells there in his frustration, anger, and self-righteousness. But notice what happens. The father comes out. The Father comes out to him and allows him to vent about never getting even a goat to celebrate with.

In our most awful personal hells, when we are most fearful, most hurt, when we feel that truly nobody cares about us, the Father is there. The father is there, allowing space to vent, to cry, to despair, and stays there with us, stands with us, listens to us - even while the party goes on. Now, my own father probably wouldn't have been so patient, but God is.

In this Parable, Jesus tries to show the grumbling Pharisees and scholars that they are the ones standing obstinately outside the party. He tries to show them that the God of their ancestors is faithfully standing there with them too. Remember this: NOTHING can separate us from the love of God. Nothing. In our own personal hells and in our global hells, nothing will separate God's love from God's people. God is right there: listening, inviting, encouraging, and accompanying. That is the Kingdom of God.

In a perfect world, that is what Christian Community is called to be and do for the world each and every day. Our Baptismal Covenant demands we strive first for the Kingdom of God, even though, in our humanity we often fall short. The task to which we are called, whether it be locally in and around St Charles, or at national and international levels, is to acknowledge our brokenness, while still striving for the Kingdom of God. Some days we will be the prodigal. Some days we will be the older brother. We are human. But in all things, God reminds us we are also made in God's image: called to be God's hands and feet in the world, inviting those who marginalized and disconnected into the party. Listening, encouraging, forgiving, and celebrating. Imagine that.