Fourth Lent

              March 18, 2007

An old fellow in Florida calls his son in New York the week before Easter and says, “I hate to ruin your day, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing; fifty-three years of misery is enough.”

     “Pop, what are you talking about?” the son screams.

     “We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer,” the father says.  “We’re sick of each other, and I’m sick of talking about this, so you can call your sister in Chicago and tell her.”

     Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone.  “Like heck they’re getting divorced,” she shouts, “I’ll take care of this.”

     She calls Florida immediately, and screams at her father, “You are NOT getting divorced.  Don’t do a single thing until I get there.  I’m calling my brother back, and we’ll both be there the Saturday before Easter.  Until then, don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?”  She hangs up.

     The old fellow hangs up his phone and turns to his wife.  “Okay, honey,” he says, “The children will be here for Easter dinner and they’re paying their own way.”

      If cell phones had been around back then, perhaps the father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son could have pulled something like that.  But, the father knew that coercion and manipulation would result only in a temporary fix.  A change of heart on the part of the prodigal was the thing most needed.

     There was a story some time ago about a young lawyer who did legal and social work in New York’s Harlem neighborhood.  He described a young drug addict whom he tried to help, both professionally and personally, without too much success.  The attorney wrote, “He is dirty, ignorant, arrogant, dishonest, unemployable, broken, unreliable, ugly, rejected, and alone.  And he knows it.  He knows at last that he has nothing to commend himself to another human being.  He has nothing to offer.  There is nothing about him which permits the love of another person.  He is unlovable.  But, it is exactly in his confession that he does not deserve the love of another that he represents all of us.  For none of us is different from him in this regard.  We are all unlovable.  But, more than that, the action of this boy’s life points beyond itself to the Gospel.  His life points to God who loves us though we ignore him, who loves us though we do not return his love, who loves us though we do not please him, who loves us not for our own sake, but for his own sake, who loves us freely, and who accepts us though we have nothing acceptable to offer.  Hidden in the obnoxious existence of this boy is the scandalous secret of the love of God.”

     So, today we come to the wonderful, often-repeated, well-known, scandalous story of the Prodigal Son.  We love to hear it, although we do not understand it.  For to fully understand it we must identify with the extravagant love of the Father, the self-will run riot of the Prodigal, and the self-righteousness of the elder brother. 

     Both the prodigal and the elder brother begin this journey with a claim.  The claim is, “I want my share.”  The prodigal dreamed of the good life, just over the horizon.  The elder stayed at home and served faithfully, for he knew by what was called the “right of the primogenitor” that two/thirds of the estate would one day be his.  Restless self-will characterized the younger brother.  Patient self-righteousness characterized the oldest.

     Both wanted the good life.  They, like us perhaps, had their version of the American dream.  We want our share.  But, the difficulty comes in answering, “My share of what?”  Money, success, fame, having bright, over-achieving children, a bigger house, being invited to join the right club might be our answer.  Such an approach leads us to compare ourselves with those more fortunate or lucky and we find that happiness, fulfillment, and contentment are always externally determined.  The story of misery shared by lottery winners does not hold down on the sale of tickets.  Wanting our share and getting it, or not getting it, can lead to living miserable lives.

     The next step after saying, “I want my share,” is to say, “I want my way.”  The younger son took his inheritance and went into the far country seeking his fame and fortune.  There need not be any doubt that the prodigal loved the father and the father dearly loved the prodigal.  So, knowing that coerced, manipulative love is not really love at all, the father does not violate the freewill of the child.

     In the same way we seek our own way while claiming our devotion to God.  We confuse self-righteousness with God’s righteousness.  We jerk biblical texts out of context and beat others over the head with them.  We attempt to use God instead of serving God.  We seek the far country at the very time we call it home.  That was, and still is, the sin of the older brother.  We claim to be “family values folks” but, find ourselves compromising those very principles in political, social, and economic discussions.

     The most difficult word for the Christian person to understand and accept is not “forgive” or “love” or the “meaning of brother/sister.”  The most difficult word to accept is “nevertheless.”  “Nevertheless,” not my will but your will be done in and through me.

     Just as saying “I want my share,” leads to “I want my way;” so, “I want my way” leads us to say, “I am in want.”  The prodigal began to be in want in the far country.  The glitter of the good life was found to be terribly costly, much of it rusted and rotted while he held it in his hand and tried to hold on for dear life. 

     Unlike the prodigal, however, we come to know our emptiness in the very midst of plenty.  If we are lucky, if we have felt the grace-filled hand of the loving Father, that might happen to us.  If our hearts have not been totally hardened by the things of the world, we come to know our spiritual poverty.  We, who have what we want and plenty of it, find that there is not fulfillment, no real happiness in it.  Our emptiness is not when we are deprived, but when we have arrived.  When we have clawed, scrapped, and trampled our way to the top in the far country we feel let down.

     It is a grace-filled, profound moment when the prodigal “came to himself.”  It is called in theological circles “a spiritual awakening.”  It is that moment that we arise and go to the Father and say, “Father, I have sinned before heaven and before you.  I am not worthy to be called your child.”

     Then, we may experience the point of the story.  We get to know the end of the story.  Saying, “I want my share” leads to “I want my way.”  “I want my way” leads to “I am in want.”  If our confession is genuine and our spiritual awakening gives us a new heart, we may know the wonder of the Father’s love.  It is that wonderful truth that allows us to say, “I am wanted!” 

     The story ends with a party.  God does not invite us to a dreary, drab life.  God invites us to a party at which God is the host.  That should be enough to put a smile on our face.  And, since God is the host, the children will be home for Easter.  Amen.