March 18, 2007 Lent 4C
Sermon Title: “The Prodigal Father”
Series: The Path of Discipleship
Text: Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Dr. Steve Jackson
Delivered on March 18, 2007
“But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him...” Luke 15:20
The Prodigal Father
I’m not quite sure what’s going on with Comcast cable TV, but lately it seems every night one or more of the Star Wars movies are on. I have to admit it, when I see that famous opening scroll with the words “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .” in golden letters disappearing into the void of space, I still get chills. Each of the six Star Wars films begins with nearly identical openings in which the scrolling text appears with a two or three paragraph summary of the events describing the situation immediately prior to the movie you’re about to see.
The scrolling credits are director George Lucas’ nod to the old-fashioned serial films like Flash Gordon that Lucas watched on television a little boy. Lucas’ films have made him a wealthy man and one of the most famous movie makers of all time. But his real genius is that he understands the power of great story to capture our imagination—and to teach us—as no other form of communication can.
I get the same tingly feeling when Jesus begins a story with his own version of “Once upon a time…” Stories like the one we read today; “There once was a man who had two sons…” Jesus was a master storyteller and he understood the power good stories hold. The one he tells us today, like any good story, has some unexpected twists and turns. It also has compelling characters lot’s of symbolism to help us “get it.”
And so today as we continue on “The Path of Discipleship” we’re going to look at this story to hopefully locate ourselves in it, and learn from it. After all, that’s what a good story does for us; as we experience it we begin to identify with one or more of the characters. And we learn by saying to ourselves things like “I would never have done that,” or “I know how he/she feels—I’d feel the same way, or do the same thing.” Eventually we find ourselves caught up in the story and we learn from it.
I remember as a child I’d watch a show on TV, or read a book, and then I’d go and find a friend or two and we’d begin acting out the stories. Remember? When I was a little boy on any given afternoon you might find me being a cowboy or an Indian, a soldier from World War II fighting the Nazis, a brave explorer discovering new worlds, an astronaut flying through space, or even Tarzan the ape man. It’s hard to say what I learned about myself by being Tarzan, but I’m sure it was something!
And so today let’s look at and learn from this story from Jesus. There’s no way I can improve on his story—it’s a masterpiece so I’m not going to try to add to it or rearrange it. Since it is a little drama in three acts, with three characters, I have given each act a title though: Act One I call, “The Misery of Lostness.” In Act Two the main character is the father and so I’ve named it “God’s Amazing Grace.” Finally, Act Three, the part of the story about the oldest son I’ve titled, “Come Join the Party!”
As we begin the story we need to get caught up to date—if I may return for a moment to the Star Wars illustration, the scrolling yellow letters disappearing into space for this story would explain to us that the Pharisees and scribes had been criticizing Jesus because he was “welcoming tax collectors and sinners.” By the way, the word there for “welcomes” is not simply “tolerates” them either, apparently he truly was “welcoming them—seeking them out.” This created a problem for the Pharisees and scribes: How could Jesus really be “from God” if he insisted on hanging out with “those people?” The question behind the question then—the question that the three parables in this chapter illustrate, becomes “What is God really like?”
With that in mind we begin our story and are introduced to three characters along the way—three characters you and I are likely to meet on the path of discipleship—and we are challenged to identify with, and to learn from each of them.
Act One – The Younger Son – “The Misery of Lostness”
The first character, the one we meet in Act One which is titled “The Misery of Lostness,” is the younger son. He’s come to be known as the “prodigal” son, but that’s really a misnomer. “Prodigal" is such an old-fashioned word that most of us don’t even know what it means. For the record it means, "recklessly extravagant." This son asks for his share of the inheritance, goes off to a “distant country,” squanders the money in “loose living,” and after he runs out of money a famine strikes and he ends up hiring himself out to locals doing the lowest of low jobs—feeding pigs—which is the worst job any Jew could imagine. Things finally get so desperate he considers eating the corn cobs out of the slop he’s feeding the pigs. But then he “comes to himself” in a moment of sincere self-examination. He realizes that even his father's servants have more than enough to eat. He decides to swallow his pride instead of corn cobs and he returns to his father to admit his wrongdoing. He realizes he must return to his father as a slave because he no longer had any legal claim as a “son;” those rights were forfeited when he demanded his inheritance. The son decides that he will return home and throw himself totally on his father’s mercy and goodness. He then begins his journey home and as he does you can almost hear him rehearsing the speech he plans to say to his father once he sees him.
I actually got the title “The Misery of Lostness” from John Piper who sees this exemplified in this first part of the story. On the path of discipleship, as on any path, you sometimes meet folks headed the wrong direction—away from God instead of towards him. That’s not a good direction to be headed. Piper claims this aspect of the story demonstrates that heading away from God typically starts with a feeling of freedom and ends up in total misery. There’s a definite three-fold pattern to how this occurs.
It begins with feeling footloose and fancy free. Look at verses 13: “A few days later the son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there squandered his property in dissolute living.” The word "dissolute" in that passage is another word we don’t use much, but it means, “degenerate, immoral, self-indulgent, or depraved.” Today we’d call it “loose living” or “wild living.” Not that I’ve experienced it myself, mind you (ha ha) but I’ve heard that when you decide to start living like that—life on the run from God—it always feels that way at first—it’s like skydiving, jumping out of an airplane. You get an adrenaline rush but then you realize you don't have a parachute and what seemed so freeing becomes a terrifying freefall.
Look at what happens next in verse 14: “When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout the country, and he began to be in need.” Things are rosy and you’re thinking, I like this kind of life, why didn’t I start sooner? But then reality hits—a famine of one sort or another. This part of the story reminds me of the old Aesop’s fable about the ant and the grasshopper, remember that one? The grasshopper spent his summer playing around while the ant is taking care of business storing food for the winter which was bound to come. I don’t mean to sound cynical, but into every life some winter will come—or at least a famine of some sort. Just as it did with the younger son.
Look at what
happens next in Verse 15: “So he went and
hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his
fields to feed the pigs.”
When we break our attachments with God, we inevitably will find ourselves attached to someone, or something else. And it’s always something “lesser,” something of “that country,” and that attachment will be slavery not sonship. It may be an employer, or an addiction, a hobby or sport, or whatever. The attachment may be crude or it may be refined. But if we break loose from God, we will soon find ourselves enslaved by something or someone else.
I think of the Chronicles of Narnia and one of the children, young Edmund, who heads away on the path in the opposite direction from God and becomes enslaved by the White Witch and her tasty treat called “Turkish delight.” Eventually Edmund’s enslavement to Turkish Delight leads him into decisions and places and to do things he never imagined.
In the end your “alien attachment” whether it is bondage to “Turkish Delight” or bondage to foreign pig farmers—it will send us to the pig troughs. Look at verse 16, “He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything.”
You and I were made to seek and be filled with God. And if we run from him, if we take our little earthly inheritance of time and money and energy and use it to attach ourselves to other things than God it won't matter whether we are worth nine billion dollars or whether we’re broke—we’ll be longing for pig food for all eternity. That's the misery Jesus describes when we down the path of discipleship in the wrong direction. That’s our end if we run away from the Father’s House instead of towards it.
And so as act
one ends we see our first character, the younger son, having done a 180 like we
talked about last week. He’s now homeward bound towards his father, rehearsing
his little speech: “Father, I have sinned
against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son;
treat me as one of your hired hands.”
Act Two – the Prodigal Father – “God’s Amazing Grace”
And that brings up the curtain on act two of our story and the second character of our story, the main character actually, the one I call the real prodigal, the Prodigal Father. Recall the definition of prodigal—recklessly extravagant. Here we discover just how recklessly extravagant the grace of God is. I call this chapter of the story “God’s Amazing Grace.”
While the wayward son is still in the distance mumbling his speech to himself, his waiting father “saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms round him and kissed him.”
What an beautiful picture. The prodigal son didn't even have to journey all the way back to his father's house; he only had to head in that direction, and his father rushed out to greet him. This is the kind of grace our God serves up. We don't have to go all the way - just head in the right direction. We don't earn grace; grace is a God-given gift that is always ours. We are infinitely loved. In fact, God’s grace is so amazing it is active even during those times when we aren't headed in his direction.
There’s a movie
out right now called Amazing Grace which is about William Wilberforce, the man
who helped abolish slavery in
Look again at the Prodigal Father’s undignified dash towards his wayward son. Jesus’ hearers would have gasped at the image of the father running, a strong cultural taboo in that society. The son launches into his now well-rehearsed speech, but in the embrace of his loving father the last part of his speech—“treat me as one of your servants”—is never uttered. To our surprise (perhaps dismay?) the father doesn’t reprimand or rebuke his son, he holds no grudges, asks no questions, demands no apology. He makes no accusations. He not only doesn’t allow his son to complete his confession, he doesn’t even respond to it. He simply changes the subject and joyfully welcomes his lost child home.
God is our Prodigal Father—recklessly extravagant with his grace—and we are often, very often, his wayward children. But when we choose to come home to Him we receive only—and always—a total loving welcome.
The kiss the Father gives his son is a sign of his forgiveness. The robe, ring and shoes are a sign that the son would not be received into the house as a servant (slaves did not wear shoes, robes or finger rings) but in his former status as son. A fatted calf was an indication of an extravagant feast in a land where meat was eaten rarely and only on great occasions. The father’s joyful comment, “Let us eat and celebrate... this son of mine was dead and is alive again ... was lost and is found,” stuns the hearer/reader. The joy of the father over his returned son taught the lesson of God’s love and merciful forgiveness. What is God really like? Why does Jesus—God’s representative—welcome sinners? Because that is what God does. Act two ends, like the other two parables in Luke 15, with a party. Finding must be celebrated.
Act Three – Older Son – “Come Join the Party”
And speaking of celebration, we turn now to Act Three of Jesus’ story; I’ve titled it “Come Join the Party.” As act three opens the scene is a lavish party. But in the midst of the party going on inside the house, trouble is brewing outside. The spotlight is on the older brother in this act. He is working on the farm, as he has faithfully done for years. Hearing the unfamiliar strains of a party coming from the house he asks one of the servants to find out what is going on. When he hears, “Your brother has returned,” he becomes angry and sulks outside the house. He’s jealous and resentful of the special attention given his brother.
I hate to say it, but the elder son is someone with whom most of us in the church can empathize. He seems quite justified in his feelings and actions, doesn’t he?
But while we’re still pondering this the father goes out and pleads with his elder son to join the party. Culturally the father’s going out to the pouting son is an action as shocking as his earlier running to embrace the lost son. Meanwhile, the older brother, like his younger sibling, has a little speech of his own for the father—this one filled with venom and resentment. “Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with friends…” And notice how he goes on—he won’t even acknowledge the younger son as his brother: “But when this son of yours (not, my brother) came back…you killed the fatted calf for him!”
The attitude of the older brother cut him off from the joy and peace of his Father’s presence just as clearly as the younger boy's experience of wild living did for him. The elder son was not able to recognize and permit himself to experience the good of enjoying the party, or celebrating the abundance of his Father (God).
The father doesn’t debate the issue with his older son nor defend himself, he simply says, “Son, you are always with me; and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.” And there the story ends without us ever learning whether the older brother decided to join the party or not.
And with that surprise ending—another surprise awaits us. We not only have learned a great lesson about what a Prodigal Father we have, a father who recklessly lavishes his unmerited favor and love on all his children, but we also learn something about ourselves.
Despite their very different life journeys, each of the two boys has experienced being cut off from the joy of their father’s presence (the glory of the divine presence) by their own actions. Each has made mistakes in judgment regarding what the Father is really like and what he expects of them.
The younger son first of all was cut off from the joy of his Father by going his own way. Thankfully he made the decision to return (repentance) but even then he mistakenly thought he should return as a servant and not as a true son.
The older son was cut off from the joy of his Father by refusing to join the party—by imagining that the Father’s grace is not sufficient for all—that there is some limit to the Father’s love and benevolence that more for others meant less for him. He too was mistaken in his understanding of how we are to relate to the Father, imaging that what the father expects or demands of us is that we be like servants serving a burdensome master. He boasts that all these years he has “kept his nose to the grindstone,” so to speak.
Both brothers identify sonship in terms of servanthood and each in his own way destroys the unity of the family.
The story in the end then, is really the story of “The Prodigal Father,” lavish in love, who shatters the understanding of both sons and wants them both to be free and filled with joy. As the Apostle Paul put it succinctly, “You are no longer slaves but sons and daughters, and if a son or daughter, then an heir through God” (Gal. 4:7).
As I close let me say this about Jesus’ story as it relates to us today in the church. I suspect most of those who will hear this sermon probably aren’t the “younger brother” types—living in a “distant country” away from God. If you are, I challenge you to make just a tiny flinch towards God and then you’ll feel his loving embrace.
I suspect instead that most who will hear or read this sermon fall into the “older brother” mold. You’re the type who have faithfully kept your vigil of faith, somehow figuring you’re earning something from God—a safe life, perhaps health and longevity, some may even be expecting prosperity. Or perhaps you’re simply being the obedient son who stays at home as a kind of “fire insurance” to make sure you make it to heaven and not to the bad place.
If you are in that second category, I want to encourage you this morning to “come join the party.” God’s grace is sufficient for everyone to have all they need. God doesn’t want your life or mine to be dreary and austere. God invites us to a celebration. Yes, even though it still is Lent and we are still heading towards the cross, this is a journey towards a loving Father who breaks all the molds and stereotypes when it comes to our impressions or images of him. We’re not to be servants bent on pleasing a demanding master. Our Prodigal Father invites us to a family party that celebrates the end of aimless wandering as well as the end of resentful dutifulness.
In the final analysis the story Jesus tells here is a story that sums up the spiritual history of the human race. Our running from God instead of toward him is a major part of that story. Whether we travel to a distant land and squander all we have—or whether we stay home and keep our nose to the grindstone doing our best to “prove ourselves worthy,” God remains a God of grace, love, and acceptance. He says to both groups: “My children, you are always with me. . .All that is mine is yours.”
And so this morning if you’re serving God out of duty and resenting every minute of it then learn the lesson of the older brother and honestly face the resentment you may be harboring even resentment against God. Resentment that’s choking the life and the freedom and the joy right out of your Christian life. The older son just couldn't understand and accept all that God has was his for the asking, all the time. Can you? Will you come join the party? Let’s pray.