(Meditation for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on August 18, 2019, Proper 15)
A Homecoming Story
The story of the prodigal son is
a homecoming story. I imagine that
it resonates so well with us because we all long for home, for the place where
we belong without having to live up to any image, where we are welcomed without
having to prove our worth, where we are embraced for who we are.
I imagine it resonates so well
with us because we can all identify with the younger son who forsakes home in
pursuit of the world’s attractions: wealth, pleasure, prestige. We have all looked for love and life in
the wrong places. We have all
taken a hard knock or two at some point and said to ourselves, “I’ve got to
turn around.”
But when Jesus tells this story,
he is not addressing the waywardness of his crowd. He’s not on the street preaching judgment on the debauchery
of his world. He’s not calling,
“Sinner, come home.” When Jesus
tells this story, he’s preaching to the choir, so to speak. He’s addressing the Pharisees and the
scribes, which is to say, he’s speaking to folks like you and me—folks who read
scripture and pray, folks who go to worship every week and participate in
various ministries. The Pharisees
and the scribes were the religious insiders of the day. If they get a bad rep, then we should
be extra cautious about judging them—for they are the ancient equivalent of
us. What we say about them, might
well be said about us.
Outside Looking In
When he hears music and dancing,
the elder son knows something’s up.
He asks one of the workers what’s going on and learns that his brother
is home and his father is throwing a party. He becomes indignant and refuses to join the celebration.
We’ve heard the story so many
times that we may lose sight of a simple fact: by the logic of our world, the
older brother’s anger is justified.
How many prodigal sons and daughters of our world have come home to find
the door more or less closed in their faces? I remember once going to a wedding where the sister of the
groom was consistently excluded from his family’s pictures. She had fallen into drugs and the wrong
crowd in high school. Whether from
shame or a sense of punishment, the family would not welcome her in its joy.
The tragedy of the older brother,
which is also the tragedy of the Pharisees and the scribes, is alienation. Notice the words that the older brother
uses to describe his relationship with his father and his brother. To his father, he says, “I have been
working like a slave for you.” He
sees his father as a slave-owner.
He sees their relationship in terms of work and reward. About his brother, he says, “This son of yours…who has devoured your
property with prostitutes.” In
other words, he may be your son but I wouldn’t stoop to call him brother. He’s a sinner, for God’s sake.
And so it is that the “faithful”
son, the one who has remained home all these years, working hard in the field,
is a stranger in his own house.
The last we see of him in the story leaves us with a striking image: he
is outside his home looking in, bitter and resentful.
What drives home the tragedy of
the older brother, is that the feast inside is as much for him as it is for his
brother. His father clearly loves
him just the same. Just as the
father runs out to meet his younger son, so he also comes out to plead with his
older son. Just as he insists on
welcoming the prodigal as a dear son, so he greets his elder: “Son,” teknon in the Greek, an affectionate
form of address. He does not
defend himself against his elder son’s complaints but cuts straight to what
matters: his love for him too.
“You are always with me, and all that is mine is yours” (15:31).[1]
What keeps the older brother on
the outside looking in, what keeps him alienated and a stranger in his own
house, are the same things that threaten to alienate us today from the beloved
community that God desires.
Independence and the insistence that everyone is capable of pulling
themselves up by their own bootstrap are what alienate the older brother, who
essentially says, “I’ve been doing this all my life. Why couldn’t he?”
Achievement and due reward are what alienate the brother, who
essentially says, “I’ve earned this, but he definitely hasn’t.” Honor and status are what alienate the
brother, who essentially says, “I’ve enhanced your name, but he’s disgraced
it.” These things may all be true
by the logic of the world, but by the logic of the kingdom they are what keep
us apart from others. They are
what keep our world fractured and frozen.
Our Home?
And so it is that I wonder about the
church today. In a world where the
gap between rich and poor grows wider and wider, where the political rhetoric
becomes more and more divisive, how the church responds to those who are
different can either deepen or diminish the division in the world. We can ministers of reconciliation, or
we can be complicit in the world’s division.
The temptation of our world is
alienation. It’s toward writing
other people off, reducing them to stereotypes. It’s toward saying, those folks are godless, they’re
socialists, they’re right-wing extremists, they’re poor and too lazy to get
help, they’re rich and ignorant, they’re Muslim or Jewish.
But by the logic of the kingdom,
more important than any of that is that “they” are God’s children. The table that we gather around every
week is not a table for a privileged few who’ve got the right doctrine or done
the right deeds. It’s for
everyone.
That’s why for me, our Sunday
sojourns this summer have been so meaningful. As we have broken bread with memory care residents and the
homeless and hungry folks of our community, we have lived into the beauty of
this story. We have discovered,
perhaps, what home really is.
Prayer
Tender Father and Mother of us
all,
Who comes out to us
When we are alienated,
Whether by wealth or success
Or spiritual entitlement:
We hear your words this morning,
“Son, Daughter, you are always
with me,
All that is mine is yours.”
May we find our home
With long-lost brothers and
sisters
Around your table.
In Christ, whose love saves us. Amen.
[1] Several of
the insights from this meditation have come from Henri Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son (New
York: DoubleDay, 1994), 77-88.
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