Lent 4C
In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I finally realized last night what was troubling me.
After a week of thinking about the Parable of the Prodigal
Son and what I might have to say about it, but always coming up feeling sort of
empty, I finally realized the problem: I was focused too much on the
ending. I was focusing too much on the
party. So much so that I had a hard time
really grasping it. I couldn’t really
wrap my mind around the Prodigal Son’s return, or the Prodigal Father, for that
matter, and his joy at his son’s return, because in my familiarity with the
story, my mind just skipped ahead. And
in that skipping, I missed everything that had brought me through the story.
I doubt I’m alone in that.
We all know the story pretty well, don’t we?
A father had two sons, and evidently considerable
means. The elder son is a faithful
worker, learning the family business and biding his time until his time would
come - the time when he would be the leader of the family and the inheritor of
the family fortune.
The younger son, however, had other things on his mind. He was impatient. He was eager to see the world. He was eager to get on with all that was his
due. He was uninterested in biding his
time. His time was now.
So he went to his father and demanded his share of the
family fortune. He wanted all that would
be his, but without the wait.
In the parable, we hear nothing of the father
protesting. We don’t hear that he warned
his son that this might not be the best course of action. He didn’t offer any advice. He just did as was asked. He divided his possessions and sent his son
on his way.
This younger son went off on a wild adventure. He ignored the proper Jewish morals he had
been taught and squandered all that he had.
Of course then things went from bad to worse. Not only was he penniless, but the entire
land fell victim to a famine. He
couldn’t even survive as a beggar, because no one had anything to give. His only hope for survival was to work for a
pig farmer and to eat what was left over from their feedings.
It was a grim existence.
But what was happening back home? What had become of the ones the Prodigal left
behind?
We all know how the story ends, but what else is there to
the story that we’re not hearing? We
hear of the father’s rejoicing when his lost son has returned, but what about
before? What about that moment when he
watched his son walking away? What about
the days and weeks that followed that were spent wondering if there might have
been something more he could have done?
Have you ever had to sit by and let someone in your life
walk away? When we know the whole story
it’s nice to focus on the ending - on the return, the reunion. But in that moment - the moment when they
walk away - there is no promise of reunion.
There is no fatted calf. There is
no party. There is only the pain and the
emptiness of a relationship ended.
Of the emotions we focus on most in this story, one is the
joy of the father, but what must he have felt before the joy?
This is one of the reasons this parable works during
Lent. It’s a reminder of the
complexities of life that we all face.
Most of us focus on the party, but there’s more to the story than just
that. In fact, though it’s sometimes
hard to remember it, the party isn’t really the end of the story. The end of the story is about the older
brother refusing to come to the party, and the father trying to explain his
joy.
But the older brother felt slighted. He had been faithful. He had remained with his father while his
younger brother had left them for irresponsible and selfish living.
The Parable of the Prodigal Son is about more than just the
return and the party at the end. It’s
about the father’s grief and sadness.
It’s about the older brother’s jealousy.
It’s about the younger brother’s contrition.
In just a few weeks, it will be Easter. If this church is like every other church
I’ve ever been a part of, things here that day will look a bit different. We’ll have extra people in the pews and a big
celebration. There will be joyous
singing and smiles. Probably reunions of
people we haven’t seen in a while.
But while we will eagerly and happily welcome our guests
that day, you all know a bit of a secret that they won’t know: it’s about more
than just the party. The story we
celebrate is richer and more complex than can be gleaned from just the happy
ending.
It takes time to get to the happy ending. It requires wading through everything
else. You have to have known the pain
and the uncertainty, and sometimes even the jealousy and the greed.
That part’s not always fun.
But it is a part of the whole story.
Today is Refreshment Sunday, or Mothering Sunday, as our
friends in England call it. That’s why
I’m wearing the Rose vestments today.
It’s a little respite from the season.
It’s a reminder, here in these dark days of Lent, that there are
brighter days ahead. The time for
celebration will come.
But before we can celebrate, we still have a little more
work to do.
If the celebration is to mean anything at all, we have to
sojourn through the whole range of emotions.
We have to feel the pain and the uncertainty. We have to live through it. We live in the promise of the celebration to
come, but it’s not quite here yet.
The father’s joy at his younger son’s return would have been
empty if he hadn’t felt the pain of his leaving. Sometimes we have to just let them walk
away. They may not always come back, but
when they do, there will be joy.
Lent can sometimes feel like a long road to have to
walk. Easter can sometimes seem so far
away. But it’s closer now than it has
ever been. And tomorrow it will be
closer, still. The time for celebration
is near.
Just wait. Amen.
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