4^th Sunday in Lent 3/18/07 “He Wants You Home”

Luke 15.11-32

James Weldon Johnson, the great African American poet and writer, began one of his poems by describing the universal appeal of today’s gospel lesson’s:

But Jesus spake in a parable, and he said:

A certain man had two sons.

Jesus didn’t give this man a name,

But his name is God Almighty.

And Jesus didn’t call these sons by name,

But ev’ry young man,

Ev’ry where,

Is one of these two sons.

“Ev’ry young man, ev’rywhere,” yes, and every young woman, and every man or woman of any age. All of us, we’re all in the story, one way or another. And today I want you to find yourself there. I want you to know, I want you to see, just which of these two sons you are!

“A certain man had two sons.” The older son was the kind of boy of whom every father would be proud. He was responsible, he was obedient to his father, he did his share of the chores and never complained about anything. He was the eldest son, and someday he would be the owner of most of this land that his hard-working father had accumulated. In Jewish law, the father’s property was always divided into equal shares among the children, except that the eldest son got two shares. With only two sons, the elder would receive 2/3 of the property—a good-sized fortune. And from everything we know about this nameless lad, he deserved it. He would take good care of it, he would continue the wise and prudent management that his father had always given.

But the younger boy was different. “Oh, he’s a good kid,” his father would say, “but I don’t know what will become of him. He just doesn’t seem to be able to handle responsibility. He thinks the money will never run out, and he’d rather play than work.” And the father was right, as fathers often are. The younger son just couldn’t seem to get his act together. Of course you can’t blame him, in a way. He was the younger son. He knew that when his father died, he would just get the leftovers. He didn’t really see much future in the family enterprise, at least for himself. And so one day he did what anyone might do under the circumstances: he asked his father to let him have his share of the inheritance now, to let him get out on his own now. And his father, who never could refuse anything either of his sons asked for, agreed. The younger son got his share. He quickly sold it all, gathered up his belongings, and struck out on his own. He thought he’d travel first, get as far away from home as he could! And so he went to a far-away country and began to party. He had lots of cash, and lots of cash usually means lots of friends. For the first time in his life he began to feel like life was worth living. All the drudgery of the farm was behind him now. He could sleep till noon and spend all afternoon and evening enjoying the wine, women and song of that colorful place he was visiting. And he went on like that for several months, perhaps, with never a thought of home, never a thought of his indulgent father, never a thought of his sourpuss brother.

But then the money ran out, as it always does. He had nothing. He couldn’t pay the rent, couldn’t pay for his food. All his friends deserted him. The country was going through hard times, and nobody was very well off. Our hero ended up selling himself—taking a job that would at least give him a place to sleep. In return for that, he had to feed the boss’s pigs. There could not be any job lower than that for this boy; he was a Jew, and to the Jews, swine are like poison. Not only were they not allowed to eat pork, they were not supposed to even come close to these filthy animals. A Jew who fed swine was an outcast; he could not associate with other Jews, he could not even worship God because of his uncleanness. And so this boy was really at the depths of degradation! He had hit bottom. All he even had to eat was the food that was meant for the pigs. Nothing could be worse! He was at the end of the line.

At last he comes to his senses! He is sitting here in the mud with the pigs, while back home even his father’s servants have clothes to wear and food to eat. And so he decides to return. He rehearses a little speech to tell his father: he’ll go back and ask Dad just to take him on as a hired man. He is rehearsing the speech even as he approaches the gate of the farm, even as he comes within sight of home. But suddenly, there is his father! His father, in all the time the boy has been gone, has always kept his eye out for his son on the distant chance that he might come home. And now the old man has seen the boy, far off in the distance; he has dropped everything and run out on the road, outside the gate, past all the servants, and before the wayward son knows what is happening his father is embracing him and kissing him, and crying with joy that his son is home! The son tries to make his little speech, but before he gets through the first sentence the father is calling the servants to bring him some clean clothes and to cook a great meal. And when the son walks through the front gate and into the house, he walks not as the rebel who has been with the pigs, but he walks with his father’s arm around his shoulder. He is the lost son who has at last come home!

Who is the younger son? He is the one who has taken his inheritance and wasted it, the one who has run away to a far country. Perhaps he is you, or perhaps he is I. For do we not often take what our Father gives us, the wonderful inheritance we have been given, and run far away? We ask for blessings with no responsibilities. We spend our resources freely, with no thought of tomorrow. We keep away from God, ignoring him, forgetting him, thinking only of ourselves. We return indifference for his love, resentment for his concern. And we sometimes find ourselves alone and miserable, without a friend in the world and with nothing left to do but sit and weep.

“A certain man had two sons.” There was an older son, as well, who sometimes gets almost overlooked in the story. He was no prodigal! He obeyed his father ever day, did everything he was supposed to do. He didn’t have much respect for his brother, but you can understand why. It’s a peculiar disease of older children—and I speak from experience here, as an oldest child! They are the ones responsible, the ones of whom more is expected. And when this older boy saw his brother’s irresponsibility and wastefulness, he was angry! “That kid is no good!” he thought. “This place would fall apart if it weren’t for me!” He could hardly believe it when his father agreed to give the younger boy all that money. “My father is a fool!” he said to his friends. “His young son will disappear with that money and we’ll never see it or him again!” When it happened, he was secretly pleased. “We’ll all be better off without that irresponsible young punk around here,” he thought. And he went on doing what he had always done, serving his father, working hard, doing things right.

Then one day, after long hours in the fields, working hard as always, the older son came home for supper. As he drew near he heard music and laughter coming from the house. “What’s going on?” he asked a servant. “There’s a party,” came the reply. “Your brother is home, and your father has thrown a big celebration and invited the whole town!” Well, it was the last straw for the older brother. Angrily he kicked the ground and swore. “I’m always the good, faithful son, and what does it get me? Nothing! I work my fingers to the bone, but I don’t get as much as a thank you. But let my precious brother come crawling home, smelling like a pig, not a cent in his pocket, and the old man breaks out the champagne. I’ve had it! I’m fed up with this kind of treatment! It just isn’t fair!”

But his father, realizing what he was feeling, came out of the party to speak with his son. “Please come inside, and join the celebration!” he begged. “You are always my son, I love you no less than your brother. Won’t you come home now too?”

Who is the older son? He is the one who has worked hard all his life and now expects some consideration for his efforts. Perhaps he is you, or perhaps he is I. Do we not often find ourselves resenting those who get more than they deserve? We think we should get preference—after all, look how hard we’ve worked! We’ve been faithful and true. Should we not now be rewarded? And when someone else gets the reward we think we deserve, we have nothing to do but complain and grumble.

“A certain man had two sons.” Both fell short of what a son should be. One went away to a far country, and wasted his inheritance; the other stayed home and worked his fingers to the bone expecting a reward, always feeling proud and self-righteous, pleased with himself for being so good.

“A certain man had two sons.” Jesus didn’t give the man a name, but his name is God Almighty. And the story is really about him. For he had two sons, and he loved them both. What they did or did not do, how they obeyed or did not obey, how they worked or how they wasted, did not matter. Both had fallen short of their obligations as sons, in different ways; but neither had fallen away from their father’s love. He loved them both, and was willing to forgive them and welcome them, no matter what!

There is a line from Robert Frost: “Home is something you somehow haven’t to deserve.” And it is true. “A certain man had two sons,” and he wanted them home. It didn’t matter where they were—in a far country with the pigs, or sulking out behind the barn; he wanted them home. It didn’t matter what they’d done; he wanted them home. And home is something you just can’t deserve or earn.

Brother Francis Michael is a Trappist monk, now probably in his 50’s or so. When he was a young man, he wandered all over the world in search of something. He had looked for it in drugs, in a whole string of sexual relationships. He never seemed to find it. Then one day he met Mother Theresa in Calcutta. The young man watched her and talked with her at length. Looking back, he said this: “I realized then that God is a person, and I fell in love with Him. Now I’m in my Father’s house.”

Isn’t that where we want to be, and long to be? We want to be at home, where we are loved, where we are freely forgiven. Well, dear friends, there is good news. Our Father wants us home! We know that is true because of Jesus Christ—the one who, even as he died forgave those who killed him. In Christ we see one who cared for all those who were down and out, who were in trouble, sinners and publicans, thieves and prostitutes, and that he welcomed them. He invited them to come to him. He did not punish them for their misdeeds, their degradation, their foolishness or irresponsibility. He stretched out his arms and embraced them. And St. Paul says that in Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their sins against them, but welcoming them home again. He was telling us all that when we come to him, we are new creatures—the old, the thing that we once were, is gone and forgotten. Nobody can bring it up again, it is erased, wiped out. We start over.

And whether you are far away, or whether you are just outside, your Father ceaselessly and lovingly invites you in. He invites you to come home.