The first reading, underlying the sermon, is 2 Corinthians 5:16-21.
The holy gospel according to Luke (15:1-3, 11b-32)
Now
all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus.
2And
the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying,
“This
fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”
3So he
told them this parable:
“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.’”
The gospel of the lord.
-----
It’s been years—it feels like forever. I can still see his back loaded up with
all he had, his animals carrying even more. His words to our dad ringing in my ears. He left us. He told Dad he was as good as dead to him, took his
inheritance, and took
off!
As I watched him leave us behind for dead, I made up my mind
and he became dead to me as well.
All those memories of playing and working and dancing
together. Growing up, he was
always eager for an adventure, a new place to explore or a new game to
play. Sometimes it got a bit
dangerous, but I was always there to dutifully keep him safe. I was always there to watch and protect
him. Until he wasn’t there anymore.
Until he turned his back and
left me.
It was so quiet in those days after he left. Every noise drew our eyes back to the
road. Every shimmer of light in
the hot son was my brother coming back.
Our nights were quiet. We
just sat, all of us together. The
stories of adventure and songs for dancing had left with my brother.
Night after night and day after day he didn’t come
back. And…eventually…we stopped
looking up at every sound and squinting at every mirage. We started to talk in the evenings,
quietly at first, just a couple words, then news about the crops. It never returned to the joy and
exuberance of my brother, but we found a new normal. It was more subdued, but it was still family and we got used
to it.
Life went on. A
bit calmer, a bit quieter, and quite a bit more predictable. We heard about famines far away, but
our crops were growing just fine and I spent only a fleeting moment wondering
if my brother was in one of those distant countries.
Then
everything changed. I remember it
like it was yesterday.
That morning, I finally accept that he’s gone for good—dead
to me and, from his pattern of behavior and our lack of news, probably dead to
the world.
But then, while walking in from another long day in the
field, I hear a noise I haven’t heard in years. Music! I call
over one of the slaves and ask what’s going on.
My. Brother? He’s dead! Lost for good!
He is no brother to me! He
abandoned us while I stayed and
served Dad faithfully, never asking for anything, doing all I could to make up
for the lost work with his son gone.
And now he’s back?
With music? He turned his
back on us! We were as good
as dead to him! I finally think
I’ve let go of all the pain he caused me and here he is tearing open the old
wound, peeling off the scab as my heart begins to bleed again with the pain of
it all.
He’s back. He’s
back and there’s music and my dad kills the fatted calf for him! All these years I’ve worked and for
what? For him to give his other
son everything?! What have I ever
had to show for my years of work and obedience? No thanks, no celebration, no acknowledgement, nothing. I
am the constant, I am the dependable
one, and he is the one who put us to death, demanding his inheritance.
But here he is.
Back with music and joy.
And Dad is standing in front of me patiently begging me to come in. He doesn’t get it! All I can think is that I have worked like a slave—for what? For nothing! Never once has he given me even a goat! We sit night after night, hardly
breaking the silence and now the house will explode with the music, the
feast, and the joy! It’s not
right. It doesn’t fit. Not anymore.
But here is my dad, standing before me, pleading me to
joy, nevertheless. And in
there is his son. Is … my
brother.
And then it hits me.
If all that is Dad’s is mine, if we are always together,
what if the joy and noise and celebration disappearing wasn’t all because of my
brother leaving? What if I had
asked for a goat? What if I had asked to dance?
My brother was dead—to us, at least—but even so he
was always living. He was lost—but finding new life
and experiences. What if the thing
keeping my brother dead, keeping us in mourning, was ourselves?
What if our house, our family, is a family of abundant
joy? What if we needed my brother
to leave so that he could bring joy back into our lives, banishing my
resentment?
What if Dad’s love has always been big enough to celebrate
and rejoice? What if this whole
time I have just been getting in my own way? What if I give in to the celebration? What if I choose to forgive the pain
and hurt of losing my brother?
What if I could remember the love and the joy? What if I could risk it again? What if I choose to remember the
dancing and playing more than the loneliness and abandonment? What if I enter the party? Would it make all the difference?
It’s been years now since that night and I still remember
the feast laid out. The food was
better than anything and the music still rings in my ears. That night did make all the
difference. We laugh again
now. We dance; we even play
sometimes, and we work together and sit together. The pain and the hurt still come back, especially when I’m
annoyed or frustrated. But it no
longer outweighs the joy.
We are family.
We’re different now than we were.
We can never be the family my brother left behind, but we are family in
a new way now. We sit and talk and
we laugh and dance, sharing stories of pigs in distant lands, of tax collectors
and sinners; and of mishaps and adventures at home.
It’s not always easy, but we’re figuring it out. Sometimes I have to decide again to
forgive him. And our parents are
patient with us and there are times when we all tread a little more lightly
with each other.
Dad was wrong, though.
It wasn’t just my brother.
We were all dead and have come to new life; we were all
lost and have been found.
Thanks be to God.
No comments:
Post a Comment