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Church of Our
Saviour
191 Flanagan Way (Rt 153) Secaucus, NJ 07094
Tel: 201-863-1449
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Mark A. Lewis,
Vicar
MLewis@secaucus.org
Dorothy Fowlkes
Pastoral Associate
This page revised 25
Mar 01
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oursaviour
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To Be
Prodigal
Reflections on the
lessons
for the Fourth Sunday of Lent25 March 2001
By The Rev. Mark A. Lewis, Vicar
Joshua 5:9-12 / Psalm 34:1-8
2 Corinthians 5:17-21 / Luke
15:11-32
When there's a baptism or some other special event on a Sunday morning I'm always conscious of the need to keep the sermon tight and short and to the point. And so, with brevity on my mind, I was daydreaming yesterday, imagining a call from the editor of Reader's Digest hiring me to produce a condensed version of the Bible for them.
In the daydream, I was supposed to boil the whole thing down -- all its books from dozens of centuries, to just the quintessence. A whole library of mythology, legal codes, poetry, oracles, visions, and stories would have to be trimmed down to a size that could fit in a tract rack. It would be a job. I'd have to charge by the hour. Or maybe not. Maybe I could just cut it all to today's gospel reading. I think it's an exceptional distillation of the Bible's overall message. Luke presents it perfectly in his tale of two very different brothers, and the way their father loves them both.
Every time I read this story, I find things I never noticed before. This time it was the way the father started throwing things around when the son came home. Sure, he was glad. But why did he decide to "say it with flowers" , as it were? You can welcome someone home just fine without live music and dancing, without a beautiful robe and a big old ring. The Father's pretty prodigal himself, if you ask me. Like prodigal father, like prodigal son.
And what's wrong with that? "Prodigal", after all, does not mean "corrupt" or "decadent" or "sinful". The Oxford English Dictionary says that a prodigal is "one who spends or gives lavishly; extravagant; unrestrained in using up one's means". Where did this son learn to live so large? Could be at home from his dad
Jesus knew how to tell a story. It may be easy for us to relate to the older son's "Where's mine?" attitude. But just because something is understandable -- or instinctive -- doesn't mean it's right, or best, or where we ought to be. This story is about what people get out of being prodigal, not about why it's good to pinch pennies. And not about how people who always behave always come out ahead.
I am sure that if the older son had been in charge he would have been quite content to receive his wayward brother back home, but on restricted terms. The terms proposed, in fact, by the kid himself: "As one of the hired servants". No party, no music blaring so loud you could hear it all the way out in the fields, no new outfit. How else would the boy learn his lesson? If he weren't punished at every opportunity? If his nose wasn't rubbed in his mistakes and his troubles? The older son would certainly have been willing to let his brother back into the fold, only on short rations, on a Lenten diet. But the father prefers to skip Lent and act as if it's Easter already. That's probably the crux of the story: Focusing attention on the instinct for prodigal generosity.
Luke tells us that the prodigal son went off with his inheritance and squandered it, far from home, and fell on bad times. It isn't even entirely his fault that things went sour, Luke tells us. This isn't a story that blames the victim. It's embarrassing enough to be in the fix the fellow's in. He ran through his funds, but he was still making ends meet until "a great famine arose in that country, and he began to be in want." It might as easily have been a storm at sea, or a plague, or any other accident. But, without assigning blame or analyzing how he wound up in such a dead end job, Luke tells us that the boy, ran through his inherited wealth and was reduced from the high life to the low life by that day's equivalent of a market crash and recession.
The prodigal son is a long way from home, from the people most likely to care about him. He tries to make it however he can. But it isn't working out. The Authorized Version (King James Version) puts it very dramatically: "He would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine didst eat". Fain, indeed. Old timers in Secaucus remember what hog slops look and smell like. Garbage was starting to look good to this boy. And that's what finally pushes him to a turning point.
"How many of my father's hired servants have bread enough and to spare?" is the first thought he has. Notice, he doesn't think "I have been a terrible son and I deserve what I get for being careless about money." And not "Look at the mess I'm in." And not "Poor me, I deserve a bailout." His first thought is his next meal. And from a long way off, he remembers what they have back home. They've got bread. Good bread. He can practically smell it over the stink of the hog pen and it seems to say to him "Come home."
Hunger and hope combine to make him start off back to where he came from. Hunger drives him. It's not the highest of motives. And as he travels he starts to rehearse his line. He wants to be ready to explain himself when he gets back to his father. This does not look much like repentance. It looks more like regret. But it's a start.
And in the story -- the story of the Prodigal Son and in the whole Bible story -- the waiting, loving parent, our Home, our Bread, is glad to accept even the feeblest start or the shakiest motive. This is a story about us. While we are still a long way off, while we have still not even come around the corner yet, while we are still far from home, the God we read about in the Bible comes running down the road to meet us.
The prodigal son can't even get started on his apologies. And he might even have been a little disappointed to lose his chance to justify himself. But -- the story shows -- we don't need to justify ourselves. God does it for us, just because that's how God operates. God, it turns out, prefers that love and forgiveness be dished out prodigally, not measured according to some idea about merit.
The son is taken in because his father wants him back. The menu is not servants' crusts, but fatted calf. The order of the day is joy, not judgement. Because the important thing, as the father puts it, is to "eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!"
But not everyone is on the same page. The elder son just can' t get over it. He stayed home and did everything right. And where is his reward? Where are his bonus points for being so good, so much better than his brother? There are people all over the place who get angry when love and forgiveness and good things of any kind are distributed prodigally instead of selectively -- only to the deserving few.
Those people -- the Bible says -- are working in an entirely different economy from the one God prefers. And when confronted with the open-handed, gleeful love of God for all people -- the wayward and the proper just alike -- they are filled with resentment. These people have imaginations, if not dreams. Maybe the older brother regrets his decision to be a stay-at-home.
When people who deny themselves too much face off with people who deny themselves too little sparks fly. They imagine that the wayward ones have been out doing all the kinds of things they might do if they let themselves go. "This son of yours," the older boy fumes (note: NOT "this brother of mine"), "has devoured your living with . harlots!" Who said anything about harlots? I thought it was a famine. The one with harlots on the brain seems to be the older son. He needs to get out more.
So, the Bible tells us, if you want to be more like God, then cut way back on keeping scores and laying blame. Learn to say to your brother "You're home!" instead of "What about me?" Be giving every chance you get. And never use love -- or some imitation of it -- as a tool for punishment, as a thing to withhold.
I have a goddaughter who lives in Stockholm and the certificate I got from her baptism is in Swedish. The priest -- no English expert -- was nice enough to send me his own translation of the Church of Sweden's charge to godparents. "It can feel like a burden in you. But at the same time a big confidence: You must assist this child to be a harmonic human being with all that it means."
A worthy goal: If you want to be a harmonious human being -- with all that it means -- and to help Jordan, who is being Baptised today, become one, too, take a lead from the prodigal father and learn how he manages to welcome home his prodigal son with giddy joy and at the same time embrace his stuffy son with real sincerity. "You've been with me all along and I cherish that, too," the prodigal dad says.
I think that's what scripture is trying to get across: A picture of God dancing with all sorts and conditions of people, and pouring out prodigal amounts of love for them -- whether they notice it or not -- without making needless distinctions.
-- Mark Lewis
Your comments or questions are welcome MLewis@secaucus.org.
Links to additional "Reflections on Lessons" may be found at the bottom of the Sunday web page.
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