SERMON, LENT 4C, LUKE 15:11-32

Today's gospel passage, the story of the prodigal son, is one of the most popular passages in all of scripture. And unlike the story of Ehud, the left handed judge, or Ezekiel baking bread on cow dung, or the coin in the fish's mouth, the story of the prodigal son has worked its way into our cultural imagination. Not bad for a story that's only found in one gospel.

But calling this the parable of the prodigal son really limits what it's all about. There are a whole host of other names we could use for this: the parable of the loving father; the parable of the repentant son; or the parable of the selfish son, to name a few. All of these alternative titles are appropriate for this popular story.

Let me set the overall scene for you. This is the third parable in a series directed at the Pharisees and scribes who were upset with Jesus for welcoming sinners and tax collectors and eating with them. This is vitally important to know that about this parable. Chapter 15 opens up by saying that all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus; and that the Pharisees and scribes were not happy about it. "Who does this rabbi think he is, mingling with those people; how can he call himself a proper Jew if he's hanging out with those people; he's probably contaminating himself and everything he touches with their sin." You get the idea.

In response, Jesus launches into a series of parables, this being the third; and all of them have at their core the happiness and rejoicing of being found again and being complete.

A man had two sons. The younger son demanded his share of his father's inheritance and then left town. First, how much was his inheritance worth? His share of the inheritance in this case would have been about 1/3 the total value of the estate, with the other 2/3 going to the older son. So if we are talking about landed gentry, so to speak, his inheritance was pretty sizable.

Second, an inheritance is usually associated with a death. My parents have started a list of what we kids will inherit; but we don't get that until they die. What the second son is effectively saying is, "My father is dead to me, and I want what is legally mine; my father is dead to me and I want to go live my own life; my father is dead to me and I don't want to be accountable to anyone but me." Sound familiar?

So the son leaves and squanders all his money on selfishness and personal pleasure. It reminds me of an old Jim Croce song: Cigarettes, whiskey and wild, wild women.

Back on the farm . . . the older son continues to work diligently for his father; never asking for more than he needs and never asking for special treatment. He knows that one day he will inherit not only the majority of the estate, but, now that his brother is gone, everything that the father acquires during his brothers absence as well. This knowledge of just how wealthy he would be one day may have been enough to keep him honest; or he could have been a really good guy.

Eventually the younger son runs out of money. He runs out of cigarettes. He runs out of whiskey. He runs out of wild women. And he finds himself destitute, hungry and alone. He spends his last dollar on the Sunday paper and answers an ad to slop pigs. It turns out to be a less-than-ideal job and pretty soon that pig slop is looking really good. He comes to his senses and decides that he can slop pigs back home where, at least, he'll get a real meal for his efforts. The prodigal son returns.

His plan was to go to his father, confess his sin, and ask to be accepted as no more than a servant. His father, though, had other ideas. While the boy was still far away, the father ran out to greet him and welcome him home. The son does confess his sin and the father responds by reinstating him to full stature in the family. He welcomes him home not only with words, not only with open arms, but with a no-strings-attached celebration that restores him to fullness within the family. The loving father rejoices at seeing his lost son returned to the family. Where there had been a void, there is now completeness. Everything is as it should be, and the loving father celebrates his son's homecoming.

The older son comes in from the fields to find a party going on. He asks a servant, "What's going on?" He's told that his brother has returned home and that his father has killed the fatted calf to celebrate. Why that no good, lazy, double-crossing so-and-so. He probably duped his father into throwing the party just like he duped him into giving him his inheritance early. And he refuses to go into the party. After all, he has standards.

Just like he did with the prodigal son, the loving father goes out to meet his eldest son. He meets him where he is, and he invites him into the party.

"That son of yours," says the eldest, "is a no good sinner. He squandered his money on cigarettes, whiskey and wild women. He isn't good enough to be part of this family and I want no part of him. Furthermore, if you are going to welcome back that son of yours, then I'm not so sure I want to be a member of this family. Unless you find a way to keep him out and repent of your own actions to allow him in, then I'm afraid that our bonds of affection will be strained beyond the breaking point and you will have chosen to walk apart from me."

But the loving father says, "I love you and you will always be a part of me. Don't you understand? That brother of yours was lost and now is found. We had to celebrate because we are united once again." That brother of yours. The father doesn't call the younger son, "My son." He calls him, "Your brother." The two sons are forever tied together through the father. It is that commonality that unites them, and choosing to not recognize that, or choosing to separate because one brother classifies the other brother as a sinner, doesn't change that fact.

The older son sounds a whole lot like us, doesn't he? Ultimately selfish. Not selfish like the younger brother was, demanding his inheritance and then selfishly spending it on cigarettes, whisky and wild women; but selfish in a much larger context, that of the final estate. We want what the father has promised us. Generally speaking, we obey his commandments. We work hard. We don't complain too much because we know that someday we will be given the full inheritance. And, most importantly, we don't go off and blatantly sin, living only for ourselves.

So when we see the father's estate being opened up to sinners, to people who we don't think measure up, we get upset. Who are those people? Who said they could have any share of the inheritance? If we continue to let those people into the estate, they'll contaminate all of us. We become upset at the father for allowing sinners to the table. We become upset because they haven't lived up to our sense of conduct or purity. And we fail to see that the party isn't about diminishing our share of the inheritance, or diminishing the value of the estate.

The party is about the father's willingness to rejoice that the family is complete. It's about his desire to celebrate having a lost son returned to the family. And if our father can rejoice in having a lost son return to share in his life, we should offer the same courtesy to those who come through our doors looking for new life.

For the past few Sundays I have talked about the faces of God as we move through Lent. God leads us through the wilderness, protects us as a mother hen protects her brood, nurtures us as a gardener nurtures a tree; and now we see that he rejoices when a member of the family returns.

We are all sinners. None of us measure up. It's not our job to walk apart because we don't like who gets invited. It's our job to join in the celebration given in the honor of a sinner who has come home to make the family complete. When a sinner walks through our doors, will you demand that he or she live up to your expectations of good and proper behavior? Or will you celebrate with the father in that one who was lost is now found?

I would urge you to join God in celebrating.