The Miracle of Community: Coming Home
Luke 15.11-21
Ash Wednesday – February 25, 2004
Dr. Arthur Lee McClanahan, Pastor
Fairfield Grace United Methodist Church
…his father saw him and was filled with compassion;
he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him…
Who am I? That’s a question many of us ask ourselves. Students, at university,
often say, “I’m trying to find myself.” Some people will answer
the question by offering up the vocation they’ve chosen…I’m an
accountant, a teacher, in retail sales, self-employed. Others will provide a
glimpse of their identities by naming the firm for which they work…though,
now, that’s the stuff of multiple personalities – surveys reveal that
the average person entering the work force today will change employers every
four to five years. Yet others will give a definition of who they are by their
status…I’m retired, I’m a stay-at-home, I’m a student.
All reasonably good answers…the right answer
being that which is right for each one of us, in our individual circumstance…as
much as we know it, in the moment, anyway.
And that’s a window through which we can look
at the season that’s upon us. With tonight, Ash Wednesday, we enter the
40 days of Lent…the traditional time of quiet reflection, self-assessment,
and imagining the future…at least insofar as the church has a place in
our lives.
It’s been during these days leading up to the
acclamation on Palm Sunday and then all-too-sudden separation from Jesus Christ
on Good Friday that those who profess a belief in the humble man from Nazareth
have a holy moment to consider their place in God’s continually unfolding
history with humankind. Do we know Jesus as someone people have written and
talked about? Is Jesus someone to be researched for “The History Channel”
or “Headliners and Legends?” Do we enjoy a superficial, “pleased
to make your acquaintance,” relationship with a picture of a brown-haired,
bearded, light-skinned, pleasant sort of man who’s only been, to this point,
the focus of our Sunday School teachers’ stories? Is Jesus as tangibly
a part of who you are as is the person sitting nearby you, here, tonight, or
across the table from you at some family gathering?
So…who am I? What defines me? What disturbs
me? What hurts me? What comforts me? Tender, personal subjects that are far
easier to push away than to embrace…that there’s far too little time
to consider in the overly-filled frantic pace of most days. Most days…but
not all days…the sacred gift offered to you and to me, in this blessed
season, is the invitation to turn down the music, slow down the treadmill, and
then delicately examine the “me” of me.
I’m personally grateful for Luke’s recording
what some have called “a gem of a parable.” This parable – teaching
story, gives us an opportunity to look at the intertwined lives of three people
from long ago. It’s a safe saga to read…the family story of a father
and his two sons. It’s chock-full of all the stuff of a good made-for-TV
miniseries. As complete as it is, the story leaves a little blank space in the
epilogue…a place into which we may just be able to insert ourselves…expanding
a nice vignette of yesteryear into a living story of today.
Most Bibles call this the Parable of the Prodigal
Son, a heading that puts the focus squarely on an impetuous young man. You know
how the story goes. The younger son of a land owner asks, no, demands his share
of the inheritance due him. Usually such a transfer is made only after a parent’s
death. Patiently, and seemingly compliantly, the father presents the younger
of his two boys with a portion of the fruits of the his life-long labors. Like
many young people who are more familiar with their “rights” than they
are the lasting value of relationships, the son takes his father’s bequest
and becomes that era’s version of Steve Martin’s “wild and crazy
guy.” He converts what he’s received into cash at the local “antique
road show” and proceeds to disburse the proceeds as if money were no object…which,
for him, it isn’t…it was his father’s and he’s just getting
after what’s coming to him. Unfortunately, when the rainy days hit there’s
no rainy day fund. He’s broke. He’s far away from home…in a foreign
land where a self-respecting, or father-respecting, son wouldn’t go. He
doesn’t have the dime…uhm, quarter…or 50 cents and doesn’t
know to hit the numbers down the middle of the phone to make the least expensive
collect call! No shelter. No food. No prospects. He’s been to the Mosaic
mountain top and fallen off the cliff, landing in a heap of despair, broken
promises, and severely bruised sense of self-worth.
Luke tells us that this young man “comes to
himself.” It’s almost as though his essentially good spirit is a victim
of his ego…some have said that “ego” is an acronym for “edging
God out” or “edging goodness out.” It’s like a crash on
the life-track of the fast and the furious.
Dr. Wayne Dyer suggests an interesting meditative
exercise. Look at yourself as if you were on a platform looking down, seeing
yourself as you move through your day. You’re you, of course. And, at the
same time, you’re looking at you, seeing what you do, observing where you
go, listening to what you say, and experiencing what you think. You’d be
inspecting your self as if there were a slight degree of separation between
your conscious self and your acting self. Noticing how you live will give you
an opportunity to make a change. If the “you” you see is not the “you”
you want to be, you can “come to yourself” and “join” the
body and soul.
The son “came to himself” and knew, in
an instant, that he needed to make a change. It was as if he looked down and
saw how tragically low he had fallen…and, then, from that depth of despair
he received a gracious gift of inspired insight.
It’s interesting that the “new awareness”
was really something quite old. What he came to was a suddenly mature awareness
of, and appreciation for, the relationship his father had had with him. Before
the “rights” made him go wrong, the son enjoyed a place on honor,
a sense of belonging, and true freedom. Sadly, his exercised free will had cut
him off from his father, his family, and a profoundly compassionate and generous
regard for his real needs.
From that review he knew what he had to do. He had
to go home. He had to ask to be forgiven. He had to honor his father’s
honoring of tradition – giving him his share of the estate, however early.
He knew that he had to be brave and ask his father for one more thing…his
father’s mercy.
But I go on too long about the son. Even though
the biblical section is entitled, “the Prodigal Son,” it may be more
appropriate to consider the focus of the story to be the father.
Why? What does he do to deserve notice? First, he
doesn’t ignore his younger son when the demand comes for the share of the
inheritance. He doesn’t ask 20 questions about 401k portfolios, venture
capital plans, or the “Expedia dot com” plan for living the “magique”
of the good life. The father could have exerted his control, attaching strings
to limit his son’s options. He doesn’t say, “Go away and don’t
come back ‘till I’m cold, when you can go to probate and see what
I have for you.” The father simply gives his younger son the appropriate
share of everything, appraised at the value in that moment, and allows the young
man to take his leave.
When his son comes back, spent from spending everything,
including squandering the last bit of self-respect and pawning the sacred worth
of his religious heritage, the father does something amazing. Not at all the
corrupted, contemporary definition of “shock and awe,” the father
shocking action is awe-inspiring. Even though it will clearly cost him his dignity,
the father runs to his son…grown men simply did not run, for to do so would
have been an embarrassment. Before the son could launch into his own canned
speech of regrets, his father kisses him…a simple symbolic act of forgiveness
so profound as to be beyond words. The “prodigal son” is invested
with other symbols – a robe, ring, and sandals, signifying his reinstatement
as a full and deserving member of the family.
One last member of the drama stands by, in the fields.
The “older brother” is angry when he hears about the homecoming and
joyous celebration for his returned sibling. Even after the father comes out
to him…in much the same way that he’d approached his returning younger
son, the older brother is unmoved, and immovable. He rejects the possibility
of forgiving his now confessing, repentant brother. He rejects the invitation
of his father to show love and be loved. He rejects the relationship of family
as intentionally as his sibling had at the beginning of his own journey. The
difference: the younger rejected, returned, was forgiven and reinstated…the
older rejected – his brother, his father, and his place in the family.
One sadness was transformed to joy, by love. The other sadness was magnified
by alienation.
So…back to the first question of the evening…Who
am I? In this “gem of a parable” who am I? Am I the one who wants
to have it all, takes the short-cuts that slash deep wounds into egocentric
living? Am I the one who feels like I get the short straw all the time…that
“others” are getting what I deserve? Am I the one who lives to forgive
and forget? Hear clearly – forgive and forget…not forgive, but not
forget, and bring it up over and over again as a abusive weapon…forgive,
forget, go out of my way to welcome and include, and endow with the best of
what I have?
Ultimately, this is a miracle story. Strict biblical
scholars would say that I’m mixing literary forms...that a parable isn’t
a miracle, and vice versa…yet…there is something miraculous in this
experience. It’s the miracle of community. It’s the miracle of belonging.
It’s the miracle of thinking differently…about ourselves and about
others. It’s the miracle of knowing, in our hearts, even more than in our
heads, that the hallmarks of God’s community include forgiveness, acceptance
and encouragement.
Jesus welcomes those of us who feel like we don’t
deserve to be invited in, maybe because we’ve wasted some gift of life
so selfishly or so imprudently…to come in…to have an honored place
at his banquet table…to make yourself at home…because you are home…in
God’s home.
Likewise, Jesus invites those of us who feel like
we’ve got it right and are well within our rights to do everything we can
to see that some are left out…because they live a different life style
than we do…because they don’t know what we know…and because they
should know like we know…because to let “them” in means to un
“quo” our comfortable status quo.
And Jesus commissions us to reach out…to go
out with the honoring, including, celebrating love of the father…to go
to neighbors and strangers, telling them that they are welcome, that they belong…recognizing
and appreciating that some may be the bruised older brothers who’ve felt
passed over and passed by…maybe even abused…or that some may be the
ashamed young brother who feel that some transgression has terminated their
connection God, God’s blessings, and even deserving to be cared about and
cared for…by being welcomed at all.
So… in the sacred drama of life…who are
you? In the sacred drama of life, who are we? The younger…the older…or
the father?
Henri Nouwen suggests an answer we would do well
to consider…
Becoming like the heavenly Father is not just one important aspect of Jesus’
teaching, it is the very heart of his message…we can be like him, love
like him, be good like him, care like him…We are called to love one another
with the same outgoing selfless love…The compassion with which we are to
love cannot be based upon a competitive life-style. It has to be this absolute
compassion…it has to be this radical love…become like the heavenly
Father and see the world through his eyes. (Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal
Son – A Story of Homecoming, p. 125-6)
And then, with God’s help make it possible
for yourself, for others, to experience the miracle of community…and come
on home!
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, there are times when choices or powers
or pressures pull us away…from those who matter to us or pull us apart.
Make us whole once again, by your miracle of community, so that we can belong
again – to each other, to you, and me…and in a whole new way. The
self you created us to be and know. Amen