Trinity Cathedral
3/10/13
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
“The Sinners Heard Him Gladly”
On this fourth Sunday in Lent we take a look at the
well-known parable of the prodigal son, which is probably better referred to as
the parable of the two sons.
The lesson begins by showing us who this parable is
directed towards. The text says that the
tax collectors and sinners were coming to Jesus. The Pharisees and scribes see this and
complain about Jesus. How could a true
righteous and holy man welcome and eat with sinners? In those days to eat with someone was a sign
of acceptance, something the Pharisees would never do with prostitutes and tax
collectors, murderers and thieves.
So we have two groups at hand for Jesus’ parable—the
sinners and the “righteous.”
With both groups gathered, Jesus tells the parable of
the two sons.
He starts with the younger, more well-known son. From the start the son says to the Father, “Give
me the share of the property that will belong to me.” Now this may not sound like a deeply
irreverent and disrespectful request to us, but in the ancient world asking for
your inheritance before your father died was anathema. It was tantamount to wishing your father
dead. This request would have been
scandalous to Jesus’ listeners. The
younger son was essentially saying, “Father I want your things, I don’t want
you” (Tim Keller “Gospel in Life”).
Now the listeners, both sinners and Pharisees would
probably have expected the Father to discipline the son severely, if not disown
him. But this does not happen. So it came as a surprise, in Jesus’ parable, when
the Father not only doesn't discipline the son, but he grants him his request.
At this the young son took his inheritance to a far
away land and did what all the Pharisees knew he would—he squandered everything
in frivolous living. With all of it
spent, wasted, a severe famine afflicts the land and the younger son is in dire
need. So he hires himself out to do the
work of the lowest of the low—he feeds pigs.
He is so poor and famished that he is envious of the scraps that the
pigs were eating. In saying that “no one
gave him anything,” Jesus is further emphasizing that the younger son is a
low-life, an outcast, a wretch.
Everything the tax collectors and sinners had heard about themselves
from the Pharisees and the scribes.
In the thick of the mire, a thought comes to the young
son: “How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but
here I am dying of hunger! I will get up
and go to my father, and I will say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against
heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me like one of your hired hands.”
So he sets off to see his father and you can just
imagine his fear. His dirty rags will be
the very first indicator that he is a complete failure. He, who just wished his father dead, would
now plead desperately for his father’s help.
If his father hadn’t found it fit to punish or banish him before, it
would most definitely be within his right to do so now.
But the father does not cast out the son. Jesus says that while the younger son was
still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and
put his arms around him and kissed him.”
And the fact that the father ran to him is really saying something. You see ancient Israeli patriarchs do not
run. The Middle Eastern patriarch, the
paterfamilias, the dignified pillar of the community, the owner of the great
estate would not pick up his robes and bare his legs like some boy (Tim Keller The Prodigal God). Those around him run to him and not the other
way around. But in this parable, the patriarch does just that, showing his
emotions openly.
And as the son begins to recite what he must have
rehearsed over and over, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you;
I am no longer worthy to be called your son,” the Father all but cuts him off. He calls his servants to bring out the best
robe—the Father’s robe—and put it on him.
To put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. He then calls for them to kill the fatted calf,
and in that society most meals did not include meat, which was an expensive
delicacy. On top of that the fattened
calf was the most expensive of them all.
To throw such a feast would have been something that only happened on
the rarest of occasions—as evidenced by the elder brother’s later reaction. But for the father this was one of those
occasions to celebrate, for in his words “this son of mine was dead and is
alive again; he was lost and is found.”
This parable is supposed to be shocking. One can imagine the reactions of the two groups
who came to hear Jesus: The Pharisees, the “righteous,” on the very brink of
rage, while the sinners, the low-lives, are drawn in closer than ever before.
In the story one hears echoes of Jesus’ words from elsewhere,
“I have come not to call the righteous, but sinners.”
But this is only Act 1—the story of the younger,
prodigal, more popular son.
Act 2 introduces us to the second son, the older
brother. We see him busy working in the
field when he overheard music and dancing.
He gets word that his father has killed the fatted calf and is indeed
throwing this lavish party for his wayward, no-good brother. And he became angry—much like the Pharisees
probably were—and refused to join in.
When his father had gotten wind of his older son’s disrespect—for this
too was unacceptable behavior for a Middle Eastern patriarch to endure—he did
not rebuke, but humiliated himself by coming out and pleading with his son to
share in the feast.
But the older son refused, noting his credentials: “I’ve
worked like a slave for you all these years, never disobeying a commandment;
yet you have never given me even a goat [let alone a fattened calf], but when
this wayward son of yours—who has squandered your property on
prostitutes—returns, you kill the fattened calf…” And it’s hard not to imagine
the Pharisees and scribes throwing their fists in the air as an “Amen, brother”
slips from their lips.
But instead of admitting his error, or, on the other
hand, rebuking his son, the father continues in what must of come as an another
shock to the Pharisee and the scribes (the “righteous”), “Son, you are always
with me, and all that is mine is yours.
But 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.”
And without giving the older brother the chance to respond,
Jesus ends the parable. The author of
Luke, through Jesus, uses an interesting literary device. He leaves the question open to the
onlooker. “Will you, Pharisee, join the
feast?” “Will you, reader, enter the
celebration?” You see this parable is
not primarily directed toward the sinners and tax collectors; toward your daughter
who ran away to Brooklyn, or your pot-smoking brother who just won’t make
anything of his life. It is not primarily about the younger, prodigal-types. This parable is primarily directed toward the second group. The Pharisees and scribes, the older-brother and
-sister types who’ve been going to church a long time and have their lives
together “thank you very much.”
By ending the story before the older brother has a
chance to respond, Jesus is essentially looking at the “righteous” and leaving
the response to us. How would you
respond?... How are you going to react
to the fact that he welcomes the people that you find repulsive?... How will I respond?... He welcomes
older-brother and -sister types to the feast that is filled with undesirables (or,
at least, people we find undesirable).
Will we take hold of his gift, or out of pride or a misplaced sense of
justice embrace alienation?
I haven’t kept it a secret that I think that this text
is a stinging indictment not just of the Pharisees, but also of the Church (and
especially church leaders). If the
sinners, the outcasts, and the oppressed—those who were so attracted to Jesus—feel
repelled by the church something is wrong.
And, unfortunately, this is sometimes the case. Just read any de-conversion story, or talk to
any of your friends who have given up the faith: “Those overbearing, self-righteous,
graceless Christians.” Far too often we (and
I’m speaking of myself too), align ourselves in the way of the older
brother? We don’t want to accept those
who repulse me until they get their act together.
So, for those of us who tend to err on the side of the
older-sibling, this invitation is directed at us—not just self-righteous
Pharisees. Will we join the feast?...
And now that some of us have experienced conviction, I
want to end by concluding that, in Jesus Christ, we older-brothers and
older-sisters are pardoned and forgiven. Just as the father went out to embrace the younger
brother, he also came out for the older brother as well. Our foolish pride and self-righteousness has
been absorbed by the blood of the lamb. Thankfully,
the Cross insists that not just the wicked, but even “righteous” sinners are
pardoned and restored. This unmerited acceptance, this one-way love,
has been extended to us self-righteous sinners before we even got our act
together (Or, maybe better put, even now as we continue to fail to get our act
together).
And as a result of his prior acceptance and
forgiveness, we join in the feast prepared for those who repulse us; for the
sinner who was once dead, but is now alive; in thanksgiving that we “righteous”
sinners have also been made alive anew. Thanks
be to God. Amen.
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