Prodigal Grace

I preached this sermon March 18, 2007 at Alice Millar Chapel.

Have you ever made a mistake – a really BIG mistake? I’m not talking about a “turned right instead of left” kind of mistake. I’m talking about a “where did that light post come from and what is it doing lodged in my hood” mistake. I’m not talking about an “oops, I grabbed my roommate’s textbook instead of mine” mistake. I’m talking about a “what key did I just accidentally push and what happened to my twenty page paper?” mistake. You get the picture, I’m sure. Have you ever been impatient, insistent, and impudent all at once?

The younger son in this morning’s gospel lesson made a mistake – a really BIG mistake. Perhaps it was wanderlust. Perhaps it was boredom. It might have simply been poor judgement/ But… this younger son demanded his share of his father’s inheritance on the spot. He might as well have said, “I don’t want to wait for you to die, old man. Show me the money! Show it to me, and give it to me! NOW!” This was an incredibly presumptions request, not to mention down right disrespectful and rude. I’m going to venture a guess that the father would have been well within his rights to dis-inherit his ungrateful offspring then and there. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows his anger, he swallows his pain, and divides his wealth, his property, amongst his two sons. Having succeeded in getting his way, the younger son wastes no time – he’s got places to go, people to see, money to spend. He’s outta there!

Have you ever realized you’ve made a mistake – a really BIG mistake? Have you ever made your bed, and while lying in it fully appreciated just how uncomfortable it is? Have you ever admitted you were wrong? The winds change soon enough for our prodigal. And what a stench they carry! The younger son finds himself hired out, feeding pigs in a field – all the while starving himself. Picture, for a moment, pig slop. Now, imagine it striking you as appetizing fare. What a mess he has gotten himself into! His father treats his slaves better than this! This is ridiculous!

Well, when you are that hungry, I would imagine it is little enough to swallow your pride. Yet, there is very little nutritional value in pride! So, tail between his legs, he heads for home. He knows just what he will say – he’s rehearsed it again and again. He will tell his father that he was wrong. He will say he is sorry – he will apologize. He will grovel, admitting his unworthiness and beg to be received as a hired hand. It just might work. Bedraggled, exhausted, famished, he nears the house.

Imagine his surprise when his father runs to meet him, throwing his arms around him. Why, he was barely able to get through his prepared speech before his father sent the servants for new clothes, new shoes, jewelry, even. “Kill the fatted calf!” Who knew?

Have you ever been… jealous? Maybe even… resentful? Under-appreciated, taken for granted? The elder son was jealous, resentful… well, he was furious! Hard at work in the fields, he missed his brother’s homecoming. And perhaps that was a blessing. Can you even imagine the ugly scene that would have likely followed? At any rate, he hears the music, the dancing, maybe he even smells the wonderful foods being prepared. Wonder what’s going on? Well, he learns from the hired help what’s going on. “Your brother’s back – he’s okay! Your dad couldn’t be happier! Let’s party! Woo-hoo!” And an anger, a rage, builds up within him, creeping up from his toenails extending to the tips of his fingers, and finally escaping through the smoke coming out of his ears.

To add insult to injury, his father tries to convince him to join the feast. Can you believe the nerve? “What about me? I always do the right thing. I’ve always been here for you. I’m the good one, not him! What are you thinking? How is this fair? You never let me have a party. You never celebrate me! You never make a fuss over what I’ve done, or more importantly not done. What gives?” And then, perhaps, what he didn’t say, but what he might have been thinking. “I thought he was gone for good – the lazy slacker. Spoiled brat. He hurt Dad. He embarrassed me… There’s one in every family. And now… Kill the fatted calf…” (Humph.) Who knew?
Have you ever watched someone make a mistake? A really BIG mistake? Have you ever allowed a mistake to happen, because you knew that there was no stopping it? The father, as he prematurely handed over his son’s inheritance, likely knew that no good could come of this. What do you suppose went through his mind as he bore the brunt of his younger son’s disrespect? Can you imagine the pain he must have known as he watched him stride pride-fully out of his life? Can you imagine the joy as he caught sight of him slowly making his way home, with barely a thread of dignity attached?

A lesser person would have also enjoyed the moment – for decidedly different reasons. “Well, well, well. This is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, isn’t it? And I should help you… why?” But, the father is not a lesser man. He doesn’t even give a thought to why lies behind them – only what lies ahead, as he basks in the present, the wonderful present: “…this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” What an unexpected blessing! What a gift! Worthy of a celebration! Worthy of a feast! “Kill the fatted calf!” Who knew?
Who knew indeed. The younger son didn’t know. He had anticipated being treated as poorly as he have treated his father. And yet… The elder son didn’t know. I am suspicious he might have thought that his father had taken leave of his senses – rewarding his brother’s inexcusable behavior. And yet… The father didn’t know. He probably never expected to see his younger son ever again. And yet…

The father’s response is one of abundant joy, of wide welcome, of prodigal grace. Indeed, it seems to the elder son that such joy, such welcome, such grace is squandered – wasted on one so very undeserving. The forgiving father is faced with quite a challenge. How is he to make his faithful son, also beloved, understand? “Yes, you’ve been here all along. Yes – what’s mine is yours – you know that. I know you do. But, don’t you see? Don’t you understand? What was dead is alive. What was lost is found.”

But, he doesn’t understand. The elder son’s response to his brother’s homecoming is a stingy, self-righteous indignation. He wants what is due him. He wants his years of obedient compliance to be recognized, to be praised and applauded. A very human response, if not terribly becoming. I wonder… did he ever join the party? Or did his stubborn arrogance get the better of him? Did he eventually welcome his brother home, or even further estrange him? Did he relax his proud defenses long enough to receive some of his father’s prodigal grace?

And, what about the younger son? We can only speculate concerning his response to his father’s open arms. Did he collapse into that embrace with relief and gratitude? Was he dumbfounded, perhaps at a loss for words? Did he maybe slip into the smug certainty of his former days, his earlier days – pre pig-slop. Did he revert to the cockiness that had initially carried him away – “I knew he’d take me back!” But, then, does it really matter?

We might find it tempting to sympathize with the younger son, with the perhaps painful memories of our own indiscretions clearly in mind. It may be just as tempting to be critical of the elder son. Disengaged as we are, we can clearly see how selfish, how unreasonable, he is being. But… it may be just as easy, if not easier for us to empathize with the elder son, and to condemn the prodigal. And that, friends, just may be a difficult realization to swallow.

But, what about the father? How often do we forgive, unconditionally? How often do we embrace the lost soul, struggling to come home? I dare say, not nearly enough. As I wrestled with this text, one aspect of the father’s behavior kept coming to the foreground for me. With the younger son, the father allowed him the disrespect, the unfortunate leave-taking, the mistake. And then he waited. Patiently or anxiously – it doesn’t really make a difference. He didn’t follow him, or threaten him. He didn’t go after him, or belittle him. He knew him too well. He knew also what the younger son needed to do, painful as that might have been. But, then, as soon as the young man gets within sight of the farm, the father goes out to meet him, to welcome him, to receive him into his loving embrace.

With the elder son, his tactic is slightly different. Noticing his absence at the celebration, the father goes to his son and invites him to the party. He meets him where he is, aware that he is hurting, that he is confused. He doesn’t necessarily wait for him to come around. He knows him too well. He makes certain that his elder son, too, feels welcome.

Wide is God’s welcome. Prodigal is God’s grace. Amen.