LUKE 15:1-3, 11B-32
1Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to
listen to him.
2And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and
saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them." 3So he
told them this parable:
11b"There was a man who had two sons. 12The 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. 13A few days later the
younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he
squandered his property in dissolute living. 14When he had spent everything, a
severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need.
15So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who
sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16He would gladly have filled himself
with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. 17But
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! 18I will get up and
go to my
father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned
against heaven and before you; 19I am no longer worthy to be called your son;
treat me like one of your hired hands."' 20So 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. 21Then the son
said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no
longer worthy to be called your son.' 22But 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. 23And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let
us eat and celebrate; 24for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he
was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.
25"Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came
and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26He called one of the
slaves and asked what was going on. 27He replied, 'Your brother has come, and
your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and
sound.' 28Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and
began to plead with him. 29But 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. 30But when this son of yours came back, who has
devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!'
31Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is
mine is yours. 32But 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.'”
Now I gotta tell you, as a preacher, there are scripture
passages that follow me through seasons of my life. Then, all of a sudden, they
show up in the lectionary, and it is a wrestling match, where my life meets the
scripture in such a way in such a way that a struggle ensues because of what’s
at stake. The scripture’s interpretation and it’s meaning become an
understanding and interpretation of my own life. It is as if the parable is
actually being lived out in my preparing, in my writing, and my preaching life.
I hope every now and then this happens to you, that a
scripture meets you where you are,
and becomes alive in you, I hope you tell me about it, so I
can witness it with you, and stand with you while you wrestle though. Likewise,
I hope by telling you the ways a scripture becomes alive in my life, you too
can witness the way these ancient texts still speak.
Since I got divorced, the parable of, ‘The Prodigal Son,’
has been one I’ve wrestled with.
Now, I’ll say up front there are many ways my life and the
parable are not the same. But I think perhaps in the most important way they
are. The way that tells of the grace of God.
To set the scene, though I am the eldest daughter, I have
always identified with the younger son in this parable. I am the one to test the
boundaries past the point of their bounds. I am the one who got in trouble, so
much so, that my senior year in high-school I was voted, ‘most likely to be
grounded.’ I am the one whose life consists of trial and error, of a life lived
in extremes in everything from climates to cultures. I’m not like the older
brother in the parable, telling me to stay and work in the fields, like
generations before me, has not satisfied me. There’s a Dixie Chicks Song, that
sings,
“My friends from high-school,
Married their high school boyfriends
Moved into houses in the same ZIP codes
Where their parents live
But I, I could never follow
No I, I could never follow
I hit the highway
in a pink RV with stars on the ceiling
Lived like a gypsy
Six strong hands on the steering wheel.”
I relate to that song, its the youngest brother in, ‘The
Prodigal Son,’ kind of song. I’ve
traveled to distant lands, mixed with gentiles, and befriend
both the stripper and the nun. I’ve experienced a lot for my 29 years. When I
got divorced, a woman who knows me well said, “Katy, you had to get married, to
know you tried.” In the same way, I got divorced after I could try no more.
It’s like that with me. I have to try something in order to know what works and
doesn’t. I wonder about the younger son, perhaps he was the same. Perhaps he
had leave in order to come home. Perhaps he had to squander his inheritance to
realize it’s worth.
I feel kind of the same. My parents threw me a big wedding.
They invited their friends from near and far, and I invited mine likewise.
People came from across the country, gifts in tow, there was great food, and
wine, and everyone dressed up and dancing, and the night ended with Will and I
walking out beneath a bridge of hands raised with sparklers lighting up the
night. I thought this would be my life. My inheritance. I had made promises,
vows we wrote ourselves, blessings given by our parents and the gathered.
Toasts and glasses raised for happiness and children, and the same years upon
years of love that mother and dad still share. I thought this was my
inheritance. I thought my future was sent before me.
But there was a famine in the land, and there were ways in
which Will and I both squandered our marriage, our inheritance. We were Jews
feeding pigs, and oh so hungry. And at some point we realized the only way to
keep from starving was to go to back to the places from which we came. But
there were ways we could not return whole, we had lost our inheritance.
I am quickly approaching thirty and wonder if kids will ever
come now. Back home my
mother visits childhood friends of mine and holds their
newborns. Here I bake Christmas
cookies, and make crayon-waxed paper-Valentines-hearts with
other peoples’ children. I watch the late bloomers’ Facebook statues change to,
‘engaged’, and I feel like I am pointing the other direction, ‘married,’ to,
‘single.’ Though I am nowhere ready to find love again, I wonder if I ever do,
what my wedding will be like. All I have heard of second weddings is that they
are small, and quiet, and the brides’ dress is often shorter, or a different
color entirely. I loved my dress; will I be allowed to wear its floor length
elegant lace and vail again? Or does society cringe because I already took my
inheritance. Would it be rude to ask friends and family again to travel? I pray
there would be no gifts, no bridal showers, I already have my inheritance in a
gold and white china pattern.
Mostly, I wonder, will my parents again offer to throw me a
big wedding. Will they be filled with compassion and run up and kiss me, let me
wear the best robe, that dress again, and offer to kill the fatted calf ? I
don’t want this for it bigness; I want this for its acceptance. I want this for
its welcome, and to be called daughter in toasts and blessings. I want an
inheritance of love. The father in, ‘The Prodigal Son,’ risked a lot to throw
his son a party. His youngest son had insulted his father by asking for his
inheritance early, he had abandoned his responsibility to the land of his
ancestors by selling it and leaving, he shucked off his religion to the point
of feeding pigs when Jews do not eat even eat, he threw away his morals with
prostitutes and dissolute living. The father’s neighbors would have seen this
son as a bad influence, a sinner, and an outcast. By the father accepting his
son back, the father put himself at risk for ridicule, and speculation, and to
become outcast himself. The only chance the son stood of being accepted was, if
the father first
welcomed the son in a public display along with his the
neighbors. The father risked a lot to throw his son a party, just as Jesus is
risking a lot to welcome and eat with sinners. Though my parents are immensely
kind, and loving, I don’t know if they will think of taking the risk of another
big wedding, it is just not what is typically done. In honesty, I don’t know if
marriage will ever come again.
But I know what God, my Father, is risking. A friend of mine
said to me, “Katy, someday you can have the wedding that matches your
excitement.” It was a statement of amazing grace, of not seeing me as the lost,
but claiming me as found, of not merely looking at the part of me that died,
but seeing through to the part that was searching to become fully alive. Her
words gave me a glimpse of myself beyond the shame, and I was able to imagine
how the Father in heaven sees me. “Katy, someday you can have the wedding that matches
your excitement.” Katy, there is hope and grace that follows, and that is your
inheritance, an inheritance of love. I have a Father in heaven, who despite
myself, is running up and kissing me, and is killing the fatted calf, and
inviting all the neighbors. My inheritance is a God, a Father who welcomes home
and his son with love.
This is the inheritance that truly matters. I don’t know
what my parents will do and if
marriage will ever come again. There is only so much they
can do, or even God can do. In the scripture, the younger son has has already
spent his inheritance, and the older son complains that the father has never
even given him a goat, to celebrate with his friends. The father says to the
elder son, “All that I have is yours.” It is fair and right that the elder
son’s inheritance is not split again. It is fair and right that I can not go
back in time and start over. I would not want to, like the younger son, I am
one who has to leave in order to come home. I am one who has to try everything
in order to know whats right. And perhaps the older son should have gone away
too.
Because maybe then he, like the younger son, would know, it
is neither the fatted calf, nor the goat that matter. It is having an
inheritance of love. It is having a father in heaven who welcomes the lost, and
celebrates when they are found.
The elder son stands in the doorway, disobeying his father,
turning away from neighbors and a loving celebration. Perhaps he too has to
squander his inheritance to know what’s lost. Perhaps he too has to leave to
come home. I don’t imagine him joining the party. I imagine him storming away
in anger. But I know whenever he turns around the father will be there with
compassion to run up and kiss him, and welcome him home with risk filled
acceptance and love. I know this happens over, and over, as this ancient text
still speaks, in my life, and perhaps in yours, and as the chorus of that song
sings,
“I've been a long time gone now
Maybe someday, someday I'm gonna settle down
But I've always found my way somehow
By taking the long way
Taking the long way around”
