Lent 4 C
Luke 151-3, 11b-32
Salem Lutheran Church, Sycamore, Illinois
Grace, mercy and peace to you, dear brothers and sisters, from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
And so we come upon this familiar story once again. This story told by Jesus which captures for us the breadth and depth and meaning of God’s love.
Having heard it repeated so many times, it still rings true for us in some ways. For some of us we see ourselves in the younger son. The one who messed up. The one who went off to see the world and came back with a less than stellar story to tell. The one who must have been almost afraid to come home again for fear of what would wait him there: but who came home anyway, having nowhere else to turn… Oh, yes, if I’m willing to admit it, I’ve surely been that younger son and I have found myself ever so grateful to know the embrace of the Father welcoming me home.
And some of us, we know ourselves in that older brother. The one who stayed home. The one who gave up his own dreams of something more because of the obligations he’d been born to. Oh, we look in the mirror and we see that older brother looking back at us: and if we look close we can see the tightness in the corners of his eyes: the disappointment with his lot in life. And it all comes to the surface when the younger brother finds his way home and receives a welcome fit for a king: or at least the crown prince. The anger, the resentment, the pent up hurt all comes poring out when he comes in from the field and hears the music playing and realizes he hadn’t even been sent for but that a mere servant accidentally met him with the news of his brother’s return. To be sure, I have been, I am that older brother. More often than I’d like to say.
Or maybe you recognize yourself in the yearning love of the father who will do anything and everything just to welcome his child home.
Oh, yes, we know this story, no matter how many times we’ve heard it, it is still ours. Yet, in my poking around this week I discovered some things I didn’t really know before. I got a window into a culture which brought home to me the meaning of this story in a whole new way.
And so here is how it would have normally worked for a man and his two sons back in 1st century Judea. They would have worked that land together as long as the man lived. And when he died the property would have been divided between the two sons: with the older son getting 2/3 and the younger son getting the remaining 1/3. After his death, the property probably would have remained together: with the whole extended family living in one compound. It would have then been up to both sons to provide for their mother, should she still be alive.
It was not entirely unheard of for one of the sons to ‘ask’ for his share before the father died, but even so it must have been heard as quite an insult. That part I’ve always gotten: It’s as if he said to his dad, “Dad, you’re going to die anyway, so can I just have my share now?” Ouch. But there’s more to this here. For you see, the goal of families in ancient Judea was to add on to the property that had been in the family for generations. Even if the younger son knew a portion would one day be his, it would have been unheard of for him to sell it. Can’t you just imagine the surprise all over town when the “for sale” sign went up? Can’t you almost hear the gossip as the neighbors speculated about what was going on in that family to allow the younger son to sell that hard-earned property which they had held for as long as anyone could remember?
Of course we know what happens next. Apparently the property sold quickly and the younger son took off with his pockets full of shekels. And while we are spared the details, before long the money is gone and he’s got nothing. So much so that he’s doing the one thing no good Jewish boy would ever have allowed himself to do: he was taking care of pigs. So much so that all he has to eat is what’s leftover after the pigs are done with dinner.
He probably fought the idea of going home for a long time. He had every reason to expect that nothing good would wait him there: for evidently tradition had it that one who had brought such shame on the family would only have shame waiting for him there. I understand that there was even a kind of shunning tradition enacted by the whole community in such situations. It would not have been unheard of for a kind of lynch mob to meet him on his way into town and announce to him that there was no welcome for him there and most likely there never would be. For he had insulted his father. He had left his family to try to get by on a whole lot less than what they had before: not to mention taking the contribution of his own labor to the family enterprise with him as he headed off to see the world.
Still, he went. And it turns out, his dad who, somehow never quit loving him, has been watching for him all along. By now he might have started to believe that his younger son had long since died and been buried so far from home. Even so, his heart wouldn’t let him quite give up… and when he saw his boy coming he dropped everything and ran to meet him. Because he loved him, to be sure. But also, some believe, to get him home before the word got out and the whole community could shun him and shame him and send him on his way.
Here again. I’m used to seeing dads running to greet their children. But that, too, would simply not have happened in that time and place. In no way at no time would a man, an elder, a property owner, pick up his robes and run… and especially not to welcome home his younger son who had only brought shame on the family.
And so the fatted calf is slaughtered and a ring is placed on his finger and a robe on his back and shoes on his swollen, tired feet. And the neighbors are invited to a party they must have been shocked to be a part of.
Only dad, the host of the party, doesn’t stay at the table, does he now? For word has made its way in to him that his older son is refusing to join in. Now you should know that once again: this would not have happened. One of his position and status would not have lowered himself to go begging anyone to join the party: Not even this son who has always been with him. Perhaps especially not this son who had it in him to speak to him in a way that no son in that time and place would have dreamed of speaking to their dad. But he does. Again showing us what love looks like --- what God’s love looks like. God’s love that will do anything at all, whatever it takes, to bring us together, to bring us home.
And so for us, this story becomes ours again this season, doesn’t it? A father had two sons. It turns out, both of them fell far short of who they were meant to be and what they were made to do. For both at one time or another utterly failed to see beyond themselves to the one who gave them the very lives they knew. But it turns out the story isn’t finally about them after all. It’s about the father. It’s about God. And that is what makes this story ours still yet, today. And what a powerful gift and reminder and invitation it is for us even now. For can’t you just hear the pounding footsteps of the father running down the road to meet us, too. Can’t you feel his hand on your back, yearning for us to answer that invitation to allow ourselves to come in and join the party. For that is God’s greatest desire and God will do everything in God’s power to make the way for us. So shall we just let go and go on home? Indeed, let’s go in and join that party now. Amen.
