“The Possibility of a Family Reunion”
March 27, 2022
Luke 15:1–3, 11–32
Now all the tax-collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.’
Then Jesus said, ‘There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.” So, he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and travelled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. 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. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.’ ” So, he set off and went to his father. 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. Then the son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.” But the father said to his slaves, “Quickly, bring out a robe — the best one — and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!” And they began to celebrate.
‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.” Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, “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 my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!” Then the father said to him, “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.” ’**
In his book “Shepherds and Bathrobes,” Thomas Long tells of finding a note on a hotel elevator door that read: “Party Tonight! Room 210. 8 p.m. Everyone invited!” Long was surprised. He imagined room 210 filled by an unlikely assortment of people — sales representatives seeking relief from the tedium of road life; a vacationing couple tired of sightseeing; a few inquisitive hotel employees; perhaps some young people who slipped out of their parents’ rooms curious to see what would happen in room 210.
But hotel management had a better idea. The note was removed from the elevator and replaced with one from hotel staff explaining the first note was a practical joke.
That made sense, Long wrote, but in a way, it was too bad. For a brief moment, the people staying at the hotel were tantalized by the possibility that there just might be a party where it did not matter who you were or what motivated you to attend; a party people could come to out of loneliness, boredom, curiosity, obligation, eagerness to be in fellowship, or simply out of a desire to see what was happening; a party where it didn’t matter nearly as much what got you in the door, as what would happen to you after arriving.
Something similar is happening in today’s parable of the Prodigal Son. This story comes after the Pharisees and scribes were grumbling about the social activities of Jesus. They said of him, “This man receives sinners and eats with them!”(15:1–2) Their insinuation is that if Jesus is a party boy, hangs out with anyone and thus prompting the question: what kind of Savior could he be?
Jesus’ answer to that question via the story of the “Prodigal Son” has always been a shocker because we like to think of Jesus as being the one who was going to improve our ethical standards. We want him to put a little more fiber into our ethical diet, which is often found lacking. Instead, we find the unexpected — a party for the ne’er-do-well son. Our question often echoes the question of the older brother: “Is it fitting to throw a party for a prodigal?”
Since earliest times, some defenders of Christianity insisted this parable must never apply to Christians. If it did, then adulterers, idolaters, blasphemers, all wayward sinners would use it to pardon their sin. Who will worry about losing what can so easily be regained?
Where we stand has everything to do with how we hear the parable of the prodigal son. Those of us who have done unforgivable things in our lives — who have broken vows, betrayed trusts, who have hurt the people we love so badly that we have knocked the wind right out of them — we know what it is like to watch those people struggle for breath, while we wait for the words we so richly deserve: “#$%# you to hell forever.”
However, when the people who have suffered because of us rise up on one elbow and say, “I’m forgiving you for that” — that is when true repentance usually begins — not before the pardon but after it. This is grace driving repentance which is so contrary to how most people think of repentance coming first in order to receive grace. The grace in this story is why we will defend it.
The people who find this parable offensive tend to be those who, through heroic discipline or complete lack of imagination, believe they have never broken any commandments. They have never left home. They have never squandered their inheritance. They have never abandoned their responsibilities. Some wish they could do what other people do — just go for the gusto and deal with the wreckage later — sin boldly that grace may abound — only they cannot seem to do that. Faith has to count for something, they explain. It has to be more than talk. If Jesus did not mean for people to live more virtuous lives, then why did he keep calling them to follow him? Someone has to give it a try.
If we can resist the temptation to reduce either of the two brothers in this story to stereotypes — the fun-loving younger brother who finally learns his lesson versus the sour older brother who has never taken a risk — then we may be able to recognize that we need them both as much as they need each other. Each of them embodies at least half of what the gospel is all about. As long as they remain estranged, neither of them can live whole lives.
The younger brother lives entirely by grace. Having dishonored his father, emptied his trust fund, and all but starved to death, he has weighed his options and discovered only two: stay where he is and finish starving to death or go home and beg his father to take him back.
When the old man surprises him by running to meet him — a dishonored father, running to meet the boy who did him wrong? — there is no doubt what forgiveness looks like, nor how much it costs. The younger brother lives entirely by his father’s grace. Will anyone tell him he is wrong?
The older brother, meanwhile, lives entirely by obedience to his father. The theological word is righteousness — or if that is too musty for you — rightness. The older brother has devoted his entire life to being the very best — the most-right son he can be. He has never left his father’s side. He has never gone against his father’s wishes. He has been loyal, respectful, hardworking and honest. Will anyone tell him he is wrong?
Unfortunately, the way this parable is usually handled, you would think his father did, but that is not so. The father has nothing but words of love for both of his sons. In the face of his younger son’s remorse, he orders his servants to dress the boy like a prince. In the face of his older son’s despair, he says, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”
This father refuses to choose between his children. All his energy is focused on getting them back together, since each of them has something the other desperately needs. If the younger son is going to survive, he needs some of his older brother’s discipline and devotion. If the older son is going to survive, he needs some of his younger brother’s brokenness and humility.
There are no heroes or villains here, just two brothers who have grown up as mirror images of each other. All their lives they have defined themselves by their difference from one another. (Who am I? Well, I will tell you one thing, I am not like him!)
While this polarity has provided the family with a perverse kind of balance, the father knows it is time to break the glass. He does this by tipping the balance toward the younger son — the sinner — not because the boy is better in any way but simply because he has come home. “We had to celebrate and rejoice,” the father explains to his stung elder son, “because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.”
This puts the burden of a happy ending squarely on the shoulders of the older son. No one even remembered to invite him to the party, mind you. He did not know one thing about it until he came home from a full day in the field to the sound of music and dancing. According to his father, however, the party is not really about the younger son. It is really a family reunion — or at least the possibility of one — if only the elder brother will come inside the house.
In order to do that, of course, he will have to make a choice — between being right and being in relationship with his family — which, as you know if you have ever tried it, can be a wrenching choice to make. Do you dismiss your own airtight case and go inside, just so you will have someone to eat Thanksgiving dinner with for the rest of your life? Or do you stay outside in the yard, where the air is cool and clear, while everyone else is hugging inside the house?
Remember that the family crime in this story is not addiction, sexual or physical abuse. It is undue forgiveness. It is undeserved love. That is what the elder brother will condone if he walks through the door of that house — not his brother’s behavior but his father’s love. In order to remain part of the family, he will have to make peace with the amorality of that love — either that or leave home himself, in which case he becomes the new prodigal son.
I do not know if you have ever noticed, but there is something about having only two choices that can absolutely paralyze you. Often, when a third choice materializes, it comes as a gift straight from God. The elder brother’s third choice, I think, is to redefine righteousness — to abandon the lower righteousness (of being right all alone in the yard) for the higher righteousness (of embracing the wrongdoer) — not because it makes sense, or serves justice, or sends a proper message to anyone about facing the consequences of their actions — but simply because it is what the father does. The father embraces wrongdoers. The father welcomes sinners home, even at risk of losing obedient sons and daughters who cannot or will not do the same.
“Come on,” the father says to his elder son, “stand here on our side, on the side of human beings.”
As noted earlier, this piece of the Gospel has not always gone down well with the church. We have argued about it for two thousand years and I expect we will continue to argue about it. We are so afraid of letting people off the hook. We demand repentances in order to receive grace. We are so resentful of unearned love. Unless we happen to be the ones toward whom the father is running, with his arms wide open and tears wetting his beard.
Acknowledgements:
Thomas Long, “Shepherds and Bathrobes: Sermons for Advent.” CSS Publishing Company, 1987.
Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Preaching Life” Cowley Publications, 1993.
KirbyKendrick.com
Ignatian Solidarity Network
