Sermon, 4th Sunday of Lent

"This son of mine was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found." (Luke 15:24)

Here's a shocking headline: Episcopal priest preaches sermon with no Jesus in it. Seriously; I almost had this sucker finished on Saturday night, and then discovered that not once did I mention Jesus Christ. What a scandal! Except that I did use the word, "father" 28 times. Our Book of Common Prayer is sort of like a stylebook that helps us learn about God by teaching us how to converse with God. And guided by this book, we actually spend most of our time in church talking directly to that first person of the Trinitarian God. Most of our collects begin with an address to "God," but almost always conclude with "through Jesus Christ." So that we are praising the Father and petitioning the Father through Jesus, whom we hope will add his intercession to our petition.

And yet, as we hear in John's Gospel, No one has seen God the Father. How can we have a conversation with this God whom we have never seen? It is Jesus through whom we know anything about this Father God. Perhaps it is little surprise that preachers turn to the second person of the Trinity. Him we have seen and touched; Him we hear and taste every Sunday. But I won't bore you by citing the many times that the Son made it clear that none of this was about him, but about the One who sent him. And in today's "parable of parables," Jesus tells us so much about the "Father." His Father, and our Father, is so much closer to us than we can see with our naked eyes. His Father, and our Father, is always gracious to us, always generous toward us. And His Father, and our Father, is always faithful to us, however far we wander. The truth is that both sons were lost to their Father. Both sons failed to understand their father. Both sons failed to appreciate their Father's generosity and grace. And both sons failed to accept that they were truly his sons, not his slaves.

"There was a man who had two sons." And as they grew, it became clear to the younger that his elder brother, as the firstborn, would inherit the most of his father's land and possessions. The elder brother would inherit the best parts of the land. How it gnawed at him over the years. Why should an accident of their order of birth determine who got the biggest inheritance? Starting out with a smaller share, how would he ever make something of himself? How would he be able to prove that he was really he smarter brother, the more creative brother? All his elder brother did was set his nose to the grindstone like the rest of the slaves day after day after day. The younger brother had dreams of what his father's estate could be with a little innovation and fresh thinking. But alas, those dreams would never come true where he lived. And so one day he went to his Father and said, "Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me." And with no protest, no cajoling, no scolding, the Father divided his property, his very livelihood, between his two sons.

Now here is where the younger son fell into death. Here is where he got lost. "He gathered all he had." This younger son had inherited a good amount of property. But he hadn't inherited that property from his father. The children of Israel always reminded themselves that they had earned nothing and owned nothing. All the land that they had, had been given thousands of years ago to their forefathers by God. It wasn't really your land. It was your family's land going back to the time of their deliverance from slavery in Egypt and conquest of Canaan by God's almighty hand. If the son was really itching to travel, he could have hired some tenant to farm his land, and send him a portion of what they produced and sold. He would have plenty of money to live the adventurous kind of life he wanted to live.

But no, he "gathered all he had." He wanted as much cold cash as he could get his hands around. So to gather all he had, he sold the land that had belonged to his family for generations, which had been given to his family by God. But the younger son failed to appreciate what had been handed down to him. For him, the only value of that land, of what his Father had just handed down to him, was in the metal that clanged in his bags. And then to make matters worse, he turned his back on his nation, the chosen people of Israel, "and traveled to a distant country." He left the land that had been given him by God and went to a country of Gentiles, where they actually had contact with pigs. In the Jewish custom, pigs were taboo, off limits to the children of Israel. Why? It doesn't really matter. Every society has some customs that only make sense to the people who live in that society. But by going to a country where he would find himself having to feed, and sleep with the pigs, the younger son knew full well that he was slapping his father and his country in the face.

The younger brother chose to no longer be his Father's son. He chose to no longer be a child of Israel. That is, until the day when starving, "he came to himself." He remembered his Father's hired hands, and thought, why not me. He "knew" that he had thrown away his birthright; that he had no right to be considered a son with an inheritance. He had shamed his father in front of the whole village by his disrespectful behavior. But perhaps if he went back groveling; he might be less than a son but more than a slave, a laborer who could at least make enough to survive. He failed to appreciate that his father, and our Father, does not care about his honor when it comes to his children. He will run like a little girl, hiking up his robe, and meet us more than halfway if we but take the first step back to where we belong.

Now we meet the elder brother; who apparently was working so hard that he hadn't noticed that everybody else on the estate had come in for the party. But soon enough, he heard the music and dancing, demanded that one of the slaves tell him what was going on, and let the full horror sink in. His younger brother had been welcomed back as a son, with the same right of inheritance as he had had before he humiliated the family. After blowing everything his father had given him, he was now entitled once again to the younger son's share of a smaller piece of land than he and his father had had before. Yes he's livid. But now he shows as much disrespect to his father as his brother, by refusing to even come into his father's presence. And just as the father sacrificed his honor for the younger; so he sacrifices it for the elder by going to him, not to slap him, but to beg him.

The younger son had rejected his father explicitly. But the elder, while staying with his father, has forgotten who he is. "For so long I have slaved for you." To which the father replies, "Child, you are always with me." Who made you a slave? When did I ever treat you as anything less than my child? You're the one who assumed that you had to earn my love. You're the one who assumed that I was your dictator. You have been as free as your brother to accept my love or reject it. He rejected me openly. You've been silently rejecting me for years.

Well, the elder shoots back: "you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends" To which the father replies, "all that is mine is yours." Remember, I divided my livelihood between the two of you. This has all been yours as much as it has been mine. You never needed to ask my permission to fix some veal for your friends. Alright, maybe you respected my position as the father too much to just take something. Fine. Why didn't you ask? Did you think we weren't wealthy enough? Look around you at this party. Look at all these people sharing food and drink, and love. Where there is love, there will always be enough of the rest my child.

The younger son got lost because he assumed that there was not enough of his father's grace and generosity to go around. The elder son got lost, without ever leaving home, because he assumed that there was no grace and generosity to go around. Both failed to understand that as long as we accept the Father's love, and authority, there will always be enough to feed anyone, anyone who wanders onto our land. How is it that we get ourselves lost today? Perhaps some who wander onto this holy land are lost because they think they have to take what they need to survive. Perhaps some of us are lost because we want to hoard what we have. We're afraid that our wealth, our strength, our compassion, won't be enough for everybody. Perhaps some of us are lost because we need to blame somebody else for what we don't have.

But here on this holy land, our Father is with his children always. So let us celebrate and rejoice, for the lost who come to us, for the dead who find new life here with us. The party has just begun.