Plymouth Congregational Church of Fort Wayne, UCC
March 14, 2010
Fourth Sunday in Lent

Scripture Lesson:  Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

The Return Most Welcomed  

"Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf,
because he has got him back safe and sound."
 (Luke 15:27)

Prelude

There are three references in our gospels to

the teaching methodology employed by Jesus. 

In John's gospel there is a passage where Jesus

mentions using "figures of speech;"

the King James offers the quote: 

"These things have I spoken

unto you in proverbs" (John 16:25).

In Matthew we find a narrative comment.

"Jesus told the crowds all ... things in parables;

without a parable he told them nothing"

(Matthew 13:34).

This same assessment is found in Mark,

with some additional insight.

"With many such parables he spoke

the word to them, as they were able to hear it;

he did not speak to them except in parables,

but he explained everything in private

to his disciples" (Mark 4:33-34).

What would you give to be a part of one of

those home-schooled sessions?

If a private session could be arranged with the Savior,

if a tutorial time could be scheduled with the Teacher,

if there was a number to call -

the Lord serving as homework helper -

what instruction might we receive,

what insight might we gain?

This past week I imagined making such a call.

First there was a wait, with a recorded message

stating lines were quite busy, that my call was

appreciated, as well as my patience and understanding;

while on hold, the background music was heavenly;

periodically there was interruption, a time waiting update: 

"Your call will be answered in approximately 3 minutes." 

Then the voice - "Your question, John?"

"Jesus, why parables? 

Why the story form, which can have multiple layers of meaning?

Why not something a bit more precise?"

Then it came to me:  "Dear John, the beauty

of the parable is that you find what you need;

to the extent that you seek, you will discover."

          *****                   *****                   *****                   *****

John Dominic Crossan (The Dark Interval, 1988) has argued that

the parable is a unique form of story that is a polar opposite of a myth. 

Myths serve as agents of stability. 

They instill meaning and solidify the world in which we live; 

they set the stage in which we move and have our being.

God is our Creator and Maker.  "In the beginning"

is but one mythic expression of this grounding faith conviction;

God created the heavens and earth ... and it was good. 

If myth establishes the world,

then parable serves to subvert the world.

If myths provide a secure place for us in the world,

parables change the world our myths have created.

Parables turn the world upside down.

Parables are a pin that prick our most precious myths.

They are a powerful tool for the teacher who desires

that we reassess our most fundamental convictions

about our place in the world. 

Crossan put it this way: parable brings not peace,

but the sword.  Parable is always

(an) ... unnerving experience." 

          *****                  *****                  *****

Our lesson this morning, from Luke's 15th chapter,

is one of the most memorable parable's of Jesus.

It speaks of a father and his dealings with

two children: a younger son, often labeled the prodigal;

and an older brother, who is not at home

in a house he never left.

It is one of three parables in the 15^th chapter,

told in sequence, that speak of joy erupting

when something most precious and prized,

once lost, is found. 

There is a lost sheep, one from amongst a herd of 100.

When the one is found, isn't there great joy?

There is a lost silver coin, one from among ten.

When the lamp is lit, a search conducted,

when the coin is found, isn't there great joy,

isn't there rejoicing, and a celebration shared amongst

sympathetic friends?

And then the third parable, that brings front and center

the portrait of a family whose ties are stretched,

whose sympathies are broken.

We begin with the youngest child,

whose affection for his father is so neutered

that he considered him dead;

the youngest is the "prodigal,"

a word not common in our daily discourse.

The prodigal is one who wastes.

Money.  Time.  Talent.  Life. 

Full of appetite and wanting adventure.

Empty of restraint.  Out of control.

Wanting desperately to be unencumbered

and free of the family tree. 

He is shrewd, successful in securing

a division of property that should have been dictated

by death and come as inheritance.

It was a deal that signaled emancipation.

He takes off and has a jolly good time in what

is described for us as "squandering,"

as dissolute living.  It was "riotous living" (KJV).

Read what you will into this. 

You have my permission to issue an R-rating upon

the riotous living of the prodigal.  Yet be careful.  

What we imagine in our projections upon others

can reveal more about our twisted thoughts,

than accurately assess the failing and flaws of others. 

As we judge, so judged we will be. 

I was reading this week of world class athletes,

prodigals with their paychecks,

who have earned and squandered millions of

dollars due to bad decisions, lavish spending,

poor planning.  According to Sports Illustrated,

nearly 80% of NFL players are in danger of bankruptcy

within two years of their retirement. Within five

years of retirement, 60% of NBA players are broke.

Not just football and basketball players.

The list included baseball players, boxers, golfers,

prodigious spenders that have become legends of loss,

with nothing left to show.

That's where the youngest son ended up. Broke.

Reduced to the company of pigs, he schemes.

There's more bread on the table of the servants

back home than in this sty.  So he constructs

a script, rehearses his lines, plots a return.

Now here is the question:

is it with honest repentance, or simply

for relief of his hunger?

The father then proves to be most eccentric.

The father violates all the rules of being head of house.

He really is a little unhinged. 

He runs.  He seeks.

He breaks open the champagne bottle; it isn't even 5:00 pm.

He interrupts the rehearsed speech.

He clothes the boy with a fine robe.

He restores his status without cost (signified by ring).

He orders that sandals be put on the feet.

He elevates the child from his fallen estate.

He suspends the order of the day and declares party time.

Kills the fatted calf.  The dead has come to life!

Let us eat, drink, and dance.

Enter then the eldest son, who comes upon the party in process,

who is informed by a servant:  the party is in full swing.  Your brother

is back, and he is safe and sound.

The eldest, too, receives the attention of the father.

He refuses to enter the house, so out the father goes.

The father again displays unorthodox parenting behavior.

He pleads.  He begs.  He issues no orders.  He simply

explains: 

"We had to celebrate and rejoice."

The one lost has been found.

The one dead has come alive.

          *****                   *****                   *****

The teaching of parable is an unnerving experience,

so says the scholar (Crossan).  Nobody really comes

off looking very good. 

To whom is our eye drawn?

If we put parable on canvas, whose face would we

see and what would it reveal?

The face of the father?

Speaking with whom?

The shocked prodigal in a party he never expected

and doesn't deserve?

The sneering son in a self-imposed exile, looking upon

the father as inept, with contempt?

Rembrandt painted the parable;

the father was given prominence.

The father's grace, and blessing.

Lavish.  Excessive.  Extravagant.

Rembrandt was a protestant.

And Catholic interpretation didn't quite see it that way.

They ordered a lighting change - feature the prodigal ...

really, repentance.  Repentance is prelude to forgiveness.

Show the boy pained by the past, begging paternal grace.

And such portraits do indeed exist. 

What do we see?  And what does it reveal?

I think we need to keep in mind what prompted

the telling of the parable in the first place.

People were grumbling, murmuring about Jesus

and the company he was keeping. 

The parable was told to those who judged

others deficient according to the standards of culture

they embraced, and that their mythology sustained.

The parable pops that mythical bubble

with teaching of a relentless behavior

at work in the world to save and retrieve

what is valued and desired.

The parable is directed to those who, while they might

relate to an animal, and while they might relate to an object,

might not relate the joy of people, being lost and become found,

being dead coming to life. 

What I see is this parent -

who withstands rejection,

who endures angers,

who compels nothing of anyone,

but who refuses to be denied the joy of

the dead come to life, the lost being found.

It is a crazy kind of love that parents of the children

will not hold back.  In the telling of the parable, Jesus is also

stating that he is living the parable.

Now, here's the lesson.

This is what we know about ourselves.

Place us in a garden (Eden), we spoil it;

give us a covenant, we break it;

send us a savior, we crucify.

Plant a church in the center of the city,

and preach gospel - just be sure to issue a warning

that all believers best be careful, for the saints are

often the source of suffering.

I was told just a day or so ago,

of a parent going to church for help and assistance

for a baby - that 20 diapers could be had in exchange

for attendance at 3 Bible studies.

We always require exchange of some sort.

And in the absence of exchange,

we are at peace with the losses.

It is the only right and fair way, isn't it?

The parable upsets the fairness.

The parable turns it all upside down.

The parable gives us Parent who blesses.

The Parent has blessed - is blessing us - right now.

and will bless us. 

Though we may be dead to ourselves,

numb to grace, cold to love,

the Parent is patient.  The Parent waits.

And the Parent is wanting to run and meet us.

And in that meeting,

always, always, always,

there is  joy.

Amen.