THE PRODIGAL FATHER
Rev. Dr. Dennis Winkleblack
Prospect United Methodist Church
Bristol, Connecticut
March 14, 2010
Luke 15: 1-3, 11b-32 II
Corinthians 5: 16-21
Today is the 4th Sunday of Lent. Only 3 more weeks until Easter. You probably know that. What you may not know is that this fourth Sunday in Lent has long been known as Refreshment Sunday – “laetere” in Latin which means “rejoice.” It’s a time to take a breather from the heaviness of Lent before heading down the home stretch of this long penitential season we’re in. It’s a Sunday to lift our eyes from self-examination and revel in the love of God that is behind the seriousness that Lent is all about.
This year, the lectionary leads us on Refreshment Sunday to what we commonly call the Parable of the Prodigal Son. I say “commonly call,” because actually, the Parable of the Prodigal Son, which means the “wasteful” son, is not really an accurate description. After all, Jesus doesn’t begin his tale by saying “There once was a man who had a father and an elder brother.” No, he begins “There was a man who had two sons.” This lets us know whom the story is really about – not a spoiled son who went out and sowed some wild oats. But about a father who loved his two children to bits (wasted love on them) and wanted them to love each other, too.
It’s a story that could be about anyone’s family. But, since Jesus told it we know it’s a parable, almost an allegory, about God and people like us.
It’s really an interesting story. A man has two sons. The younger one is so anxious to get out and see the world that he, in effect, wishes his own father dead. Even though the scriptures don’t actually say that, it’s really the import, commentators say, of the younger son’s request for his share of his father’s estate. By asking for his share of the inheritance while the father is still living, he is – according to ancient custom – wishing him dead.
So the Father complied and divided his livelihood and said goodbye to his younger son who then went off and squandered everything on wine, women and song, until one day he “came to himself.” Things got so bad that he decided to go back home, promising that he’d be glad to just be one of the servants if only he could come home and not have to worry about food and shelter.
What happened next is the mind-boggling part. For no sooner did his father see him coming down the road than he had the elder brother’s fatted calf slain and the barbecue celebration was on. There was no heart to heart talk with the old man, no extra chores to perform, no “go to your room for a week and think about what you have done” business. Just a clean robe for his back, and a fine ring for his hand and a pair of new sandals for his feet. In fact, the father doesn’t even wait for the older brother to come in from the fields before beginning the party. “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.”
About this time, the older brother came up the front walkway and heard the music and dancing. I’m certainly glad I wasn’t the one who had to tell him what was going on, aren’t you?
But, let’s be honest: In a way, you have to feel sorry for the older brother. Older siblings usually get the raw end of many deals, don’t they? They pave the way; carry responsibility; and then watch as younger brothers or sisters get things they never got and get to do things much earlier than they ever did. Was that true in your family? I doubt if there’s any older brother or sister who doesn’t believe the youngest in the family was spoiled rotten.
Regarding the older brother in the story this morning, I suspect that he wasn’t so much incensed by his younger brother’s return, or even by his father’s forgiveness, so much as he was by the celebration. He’s got to be enraged: I mean, what about facing the consequences of your actions? What about reaping what you sow? What kind of world would this be if we all made a practice of rewarding sinners while the God-fearing folk are still out in the fields working?
“These many years I have served you,” says the elder son, but what the word means is “slaved.” I have “slaved” for you all my life, and I have never failed to do a thing that you have asked me to do, but you never gave me so much as a goat for a party with my friends. Then this son of yours shows up, who has thrown away everything you have ever given him and you kill the prize calf.”
God help the elder son. God help him, and God help all of us who understand his rage from personal experience.
“This son of YOURS,” the elder brother says, excluding himself from the family – this son of yours who is no kin to me. In fact, he’s even saying, “I am no kin to you, dear father, if you are going to choose him over me. After all I’ve done for you!”
At this point, the Father has experienced the loss of both his sons. He lost the younger one for a while to a life of recklessness. And he’s lost the older one to a more serious fate -- to a life of angry self-righteousness that takes him so far away from his father that he might as well be feeding pigs in a far country.
The problem is that the elder brother wants his father to love him as he deserves to be loved—because he has stayed put, and followed orders, and done the right thing. He wants his father to love him for all of that. And his father does love him, but not for any of that, anymore than he loves the younger brother for what he has done. You see, he doesn’t love either of his sons according to what they deserve. Rather, he loves them because of who HE is. Not because of who THEY are.
And the elder brother can’t stand it. He can’t stand a love that transcends right and wrong, a love that throws homecoming parties for prodigal sinners and expects the hard working righteous to rejoice. He can’t stand it, and so he stands outside – literally standing outside his father’s love and his father’s house – refusing his invitation to come inside.
Prodigal. Wasteful. The Father really does deserve that title – at least as far as his love is concerned, for he doesn’t tire of giving it away. “Son,” he says, trying to reclaim the elder boy, “you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”
Now, we need to note here that the Father’s love for one child doesn’t preclude his love for the other. That is, the younger one’s recklessness can’t deflect this love any more than the older one’s self-righteousness can. What the Father is saying is that they’re a family -- they belong to one another, and a party for one is a party for all. “It was fitting to make merry and be glad,” the loving father says to his older son, “for this your brother” -- not my son but ‘your brother” – was dead, and is alive, he was lost, and is found.”
As with many of Jesus’ parables, this one doesn’t tell us how it all turned out. The story ends with the older brother standing outside the house in the yard with his father, listening to the party going on inside.
By this point, the hearers in the first century and the readers in our century have already identified with one of the sons in the story. They also have come to understand that the Father is God. And the “party” is life, God’s way.
Traditionally, as church goers know, the emphasis in teaching and preaching this parable has been on the prodigal son. Most of us can identify with the prodigal son – in the distant past if not presently. Most of us sowed some wild oats of one kind or another, came to our senses and went on with our lives wiser than before. If we harmed anyone, we are grateful that they have forgiven us. Maybe this morning you still identify most with the younger, prodigal son because of your past or your present.
Or, maybe you have to admit you identify most with the elder brother. This is actually hard to admit. For who wants to admit even to themselves that they are resentful of prodigal son types who are forgiven without even asking for it.
Whether these prodigals who have come to their senses are our own brothers or sisters; or other family members; or those people in society who get what they need without having to work for it; or elected officials or celebrities who are arrested for one thing or another and then given the royal treatment when they say they’re sorry, we the good, the proud, the few, the ones who are the backbone of church and society – can find ourselves insensed by these prodigals being given so much attention and forgiveness!
I mean, after all these years of being faithful! Give me a break!
So, where are you in this story? Have you decided? Younger brother? Older brother? which are you? Prodigal? Elder brother?
Can you see yourself in this parable, somewhere?
Thomas Long tells the story of a woman who was reminiscing about her father. She said that when she was young, she was very close to her father because her mother had died while she was but an infant. The time she experienced this closeness the most was when they would have big family gatherings with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. At some point, someone would pull out the old record player and put on polka records, and the family would dance. Eventually, someone would put on the "Beer Barrel Polka;" and when the music of the "Beer Barrel Polka" played, her father would come up to her, tap her on the shoulder and say, "I believe this is our dance," and they would dance.
One time, though, when she was a teenager and in one of those teenaged moods and the "Beer Barrel Polka" began to play and when her father tapped her on the shoulder and said, "I believe this is our dance," she snapped at him: “Don't touch me! Leave me alone!" And her father turned away and never asked her to dance again.
"Our relationship was difficult all through my teen years," she wrote. "When I would come home late from a date, my father would be sitting there in his chair, half asleep, wearing an old bathrobe, and I would snarl at him, "What do you think you're doing?" He would look at me with sad eyes and say, "I was just waiting for you."
"When I went away to college," the woman wrote, "I was so glad to get out of his house and away from him and for years I never communicated with him, but as I grew older, I began to miss him.
“One day I decided to go to the next family gathering, and when I was there, somebody put on the "Beer Barrel Polka." I drew a deep breath, walked over to my father, tapped him on the shoulder and said, "I believe this is our dance."
He then turned toward me and said, "I've been waiting for you."
Prodigal son or daughter needing to change your ways and return home. Good elder brother or sister resentful at life’s unfairness. Or maybe a little of each – however you need to hear it, your prodigal, heavenly Father is saying to you: “I’ve been waiting for you.”
